Silent Shadow
by Canimal
Summary: He kept to the shadows, but she always knew he was there. Maybe she should've been afraid, but she wasn't. Somehow she knew he would never hurt her.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note_** ** _: This is an adult story written for adults to read. It is my personal choice not to include trigger or content warnings on each chapter. If this bothers you, I recommend not reading further. Basically, one can expect adult content, sexual situations, mild violence, and stalkerish behavior. While I don't anticipate this story being terribly dark, there's always a chance that there will be more than just those included. Read at your own risk._**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

She could always feel him out there, lurking in the shadows, watching her every move. Unsure exactly when it all started, Hermione Granger was certain that she at least became aware of his presence six weeks before Christmas. For all she knew, he could have been out there for months before then. No one knew much about the man, where he'd been, what had happened to him after the war ended. Most assumed he had been dead for years. She never gave him much thought at all.

It had been an ordinary day. Once she left her office in the Ministry of Magic long after most of her coworkers, she wandered down the quiet London street where the employee entrance was located. The city turned chilly when she wasn't paying attention. A cold drizzle fell on the pavement with a promise of a light dusting of snow as the city slept that night. If Hermione could pick the kind of weather she liked best, it would be the rain that came just before the snow. Each year she looked forward to the changing of the seasons. There was something about winter that always brought her peace.

Even years after returning to Hogwarts to finish her interrupted schooling, she thought back to the harsh weather in Scotland and found herself missing it. Hagrid would be chopping down the Christmas trees soon. Every nook and cranny of the castle were soon to be filled with twinkling lights and the reminders that her favorite holiday was soon to arrive. The students, enjoying a carefree existence thanks to the end of the war ten years earlier, would be waging massive snowball fights on the castle grounds. It sounded exactly like what she would prefer to be doing.

As most come to discover when the last vestiges of youth disappeared and they were fully entrenched in the less-than-glamourous adult world, Hermione learned being grown wasn't always what she dreamed it would be. She thought for certain that as soon as she left Hogwarts she would go straight to the Ministry to convince the powers that be to release all house-elves around the country from their servitude. Such a feat should only take about a week, _maybe_ two on her naïve estimations. Then, once those innocent creatures were taken care of, she would move on to getting the horrendous werewolf laws corrected. It was entirely unfair to treat those poor souls as less-than-human simply because of their affliction. After all, it wasn't as if any of them _asked_ to be bitten by a monster under the light of a Full Moon. She assumed changing the minds of so many Ministry officials would take some time. _Maybe_ a year or two. After that, she could get some of the worst of the pro-Pureblood laws off the books too. Her goal was to become the youngest Minister for Magic by age forty.

Only a cold dose of reality taught her that her plans weren't going to be as easily completed as she hoped. It most certainly took her more than just a week to free the house-elves from their enslavement. She could hardly believe that it took her _six_ years. Very few in the Ministry took her crusade seriously at all. Even Kingsley struggled to hide his own annoyance when he asked her repeatedly if she wouldn't rather be doing something more productive in a different department. She rebuffed all of his offers, determined she would never give up on her quest to do what was right by the helpless, exploited creatures. Part of her assumed that the only reason why Minister Shacklebolt finally signed the Freedom of House-Elves Act into law was because he was tired of her wasting her potential and wanted her elsewhere in the Ministry. Or, perhaps more likely, because he and the other senior officials had grown weary of her relentless campaign.

And changing the discriminatory werewolf laws hadn't been nearly as easy as she thought it would be either. Even having the Minister in her corner thanks to his close, personal friendship with the late Remus Lupin didn't help matters along like she hoped and assumed they would. There were a number of antiquated ideas and opinions about the poor, cursed beings held by members of their society. She had been working tirelessly for three years and she had only _just_ begun to make any progress dismantling the atrocious regulations put into place by the wretched Dolores Umbridge. Even from her cell in Azkaban she was still causing Hermione daily misery.

It was close to nine o'clock before she left her office the night she first saw him. Bogged down all day with paperwork that needed to be filed properly in triplicate to the required departments to just simply _ease_ the job restrictions for known werewolves, time had gotten away from her. Only one other person worked in her department. Robert, just a few years older than Hermione was an example of a werewolf who was perfectly capable of having a job and interacting with society at large. It had taken every single favor she could call on from Kingsley to be able to offer the kind man a job. They'd been fought at every turn, but she was proud to share an office with him once it became clear she would never give up her fight. Many within the walls of the Ministry had already learned the hard lesson that sometimes it was simply easier to just give in to the woman when she wasn't asking for that much.

Robert didn't like to leave her alone in their dingy office. Part of the agreement in allowing him to have the job as her assistant meant they were exiled to a tiny office all the way down on Level Ten, tucked back as far away from the other offices and the courtrooms as possible. Offended on his behalf, Hermione tried what she could to make the room less depressing. Her assistant would've stayed longer that night to help her finish up her tasks, but it was a Friday and she knew he had been planning to take one of the ladies from the Improper Use of Magic Office out for dinner. It had only taken the painfully shy werewolf two years to work up the courage to ask the patient witch out. There was simply no way Hermione would stand in the way of his plans. Nor would she allow him to use her as an excuse to cancel the date. As nervous as she knew he was, he was looking for reasons to avoid the social event.

Besides, it wasn't as if she had anyone waiting for her at home. No one but an aging half-kneazle who spent much of his time wandering the streets of London looking for excitement. Just like the witch who claimed to be his master, Crookshanks missed Scotland. It was a shame that the seat of power was in London. Hermione could've been quite happy living in a small cottage in Hogsmeade. Apparating back and forth for work each day would've been tedious, but something she would've been willing to consider if she didn't already feel isolated enough as it was in the city. She was the kind of person that could easily ignore everyone else in the world for long periods of time. It wasn't always the healthiest of choices.

A short-lived romance with Ron fizzled out shortly after the war ended and their emotions settled to a more manageable level. She had been glad to be there for him as he grieved the loss of his brother. Their friendship grew stronger even as it became evident that there wasn't anything romantic there. It had been a sad breakup, mostly because they had both put so much stock in their future together. Everyone assumed they would make it, but how often do people really stay together with their sweethearts from school? Eventually, they were able to repair their friendship to the point it was almost as if they never even dated.

There had been other men. Not very many, to her disappointment. A handsome Auror. They both worked so much that they never spent much time together except for Sundays spent entirely in bed. A wizard who owned the apothecary in Diagon Alley she liked best. She managed to bore him with her incessant prattle about the house-elves, in his own discouraging words. Viktor for the two months he was helping train the Falmouth Falcons to their first ever League Cup. His assignment was only ever going to be temporary so they tried to make the most of it that they could. Once she even managed to have an awkward dinner with Draco Malfoy that she still wasn't sure qualified as a date. If it did, it was without a doubt the most disastrous one she'd ever endured and neither one of them was in a hurry to repeat it.

She was content, for the moment, with her friendships. Though it bothered her slightly when she was around all of them with their significant others while she was alone, she had become an expert at pretending like she was perfectly all right. It was only when she returned to her small house on the outskirts of the city that she would snuggle Crookshanks to her and wish that she didn't have to be alone any longer. She had plenty in her life to keep her occupied and to keep her mind satisfied. Anything beyond that was better not thought about at all.

With her thoughts focused on the pile of work still laying on top of her desk, Hermione pulled her coat tighter around her body. Even if there were very few people out on the streets, she chose to enjoy the weather a little bit longer before she ducked into the nearest alley to Apparate home. There was no need to rush. No one was waiting for her. Most of her friends had stopped inviting her out to dinner or to see a movie because she had turned them down too many times. Her life revolved around working. They didn't always understand. Maybe they couldn't understand that filling her life with work kept her from being too aware of the fact that she had nothing else in her life.

"And _that_ kind of thinking is just going to drive you mad, Granger."

She turned a corner without paying too much attention to where she was going. It was a well-known fact that the Ministry of Magic was built in a part of the city that had been rundown for decades. When the sun was shining and others filled the streets with their energy and presence, it didn't feel dangerous. At that moment, with no one else around and the lateness of the winter hour, it would have been best that she find the nearest dark corner to make her return home. Instead, she kept going, straight into the path of a man she hadn't seen step out from the shadows.

"Bit late for a stroll by yourself, ain't it?"

The unfamiliar voice tore Hermione out of her muddled thoughts. She wasn't sure what she was doing. It most definitely wasn't like her to be so wrapped in what she was thinking that she wasn't even aware of her surroundings. A quick glance around her proved that she'd walked further than she intended. Her surroundings weren't familiar and the man blocking her from going any further on the pavement was a complete stranger.

Living in the insulated world of Wizarding Britain post-war had given Hermione a false sense of security. When there was no longer a power mad Dark Lord running around the country killing everyone who dared to stop him from his goal of immortality and ultimate rule, it was easy for one to forget that there were other dangers lurking out there. Despite her Muggle heritage, she was just as guilty as so many others for assuming that only wizards and witches posed a serious threat to her well-being. Her arrogance since coming in to her full strength as a powerful witch was a detriment.

"No one ever tell you that you shouldn't walk around alone after dark?"

Hermione carefully slid her hand into her pocket to retrieve her wand. It might be illegal to use magic against a Muggle, but she would be damned if she let one hurt her without so much as defending herself. She could deal with the Obliviators later. Even Kingsley wouldn't fault her for attacking someone who was going to hurt her. Before she could grasp the weapon, the horrible man roughly grabbed her wrist to pull it out of her pocket.

"Nuh uh. Leave your hands where I can see them."

It seemed on the surface to just be a normal shakedown. Crime was a constant in a city as large as London. No matter how many times government officials would parade themselves in front a television camera to proclaim the city's crime rate was under control, she knew the truth. As long as human beings continued to congregate and live in concentrated areas, there would always be those who would prey on those they deemed weaker. Magic was a great equalizer. If allowed to use her wand, she had no doubt that she could take the robber down with little effort. A battle of physical strength, however, would end very differently. The man had several inches on her and more than a few stone. He appeared to be the type of man that had once been in great shape. Maybe a former rugby player who got injured or grew too fat to keep playing. And if sheer size wasn't enough to worry the witch, the glint of the knife he was holding in his hand was.

"I don't want to hurt you."

He slid the flat side of his knife down Hermione's right cheek to further his point. The bite of the cold metal against her flushed flesh was startling. His grip was still tight on her wrist preventing her from reaching her wand. She knew even without trying that if she tried to rip her hand out of his grasp, she would only make the situation even worse. Whatever he was going to demand, she would have to comply.

"Pretty thing like you shouldn't be out wandering these streets alone. You could get hurt."

Removing the threat of the knife from her face, the Muggle ripped her handbag off of her shoulder. Seemingly satisfied by the weight of the bag, a sly grin crossed his features. She hoped that that was all he wanted. Most of her money was kept locked up safe in Gringotts. What little Muggle money she still had left over from her parents' estate was also safe in a Muggle bank. He might get away with less than fifty pounds and maybe a galleon or two. She could live with the loss. Very little else in her handbag was of any value. Everything could be replaced with minimal effort.

Before the man would let her walk away, handbag-less, he wanted to make sure she wasn't concealing anything else that he could steal. The manner in which his free hand not grasping her wrist roamed over her body made her sick to her stomach. He checked the pockets of her coat, his hand lingering over her breasts. Next, he rubbed her back pockets on her arse to see if they were empty. Just as he was gleefully preparing to run his hand down the front of her body between her covered thighs, a deep growl ripped through the still night.

"What the…?"

A flash of motion crossed in front of Hermione's line of sight as she witnessed a body soar through the air to crush the robber to the pavement. Everything happened so quickly that she wasn't even sure what to do. Loud, animalistic sounds emanated from her rescuer. As the Muggle who was so intent to violate her in more ways than one screamed and kicked out at his attacker, all she could do was stand there and watch. Her handbag went flying out of the man's hands, spilling some of its contents. Careful not to get too close to the two men brawling on the ground, she reached a handle on the bag. A discreet summoning spell brought what had fallen out to her waiting hands.

She wasn't sure what the protocol was for being saved in such a manner. The robber was begging for mercy that the other refused to give. Was she expected to remain long enough to thank him? Or was it bad manners to run off into the night with nothing more than a shouted 'thank you'?

"Mikey, that you?"

The sound of another voice coming from the shadows of the alley rooted Hermione to the spot. She wasn't sure what to do. It didn't take long for the third man to realize what was happening. As he shouted out for others to join him, she knew they were in trouble. Her rescuer might be able to take one down, but she feared that he would soon be outnumbered.

For the first time since he flew to her literal rescue, the witch was able to get a good look at the man holding her attacker down. He wore his long, thick, dark hair loose and down around his shoulders. It covered much of his face and his heavy beard covered the rest. Only his blue eyes were remarkable. They stared into hers, an intensity present that threatened to take her breath away. She knew she had seen them before, but couldn't think of where.

"Go home. _Now_."

His order came out in a deep, raspy voice that she had heard in her nightmares since she was held down on the floor of the drawing room in Malfoy Manor. Even if Bellatrix Lestrange was the one torturing her, she would never forget how her accomplice stalked around Hermione in a circle, watching every move, waiting for the second it would all stop and he would be allowed to drag her away. It was impossible. He had been killed during the final battle. Everyone said so. His body might not have been found, but that didn't mean anything. Between the explosions and the acromantulas swarming the grounds, it wasn't inconceivable that a body would be missed.

"Did you hear me, girl? _Go_!"

She didn't need to be told again. Others were rushing out into the night to come to the aid of their comrade. Little did they know what kind of monster they were about to be faced against. If she didn't leave quickly, she would be caught up in the violence again. It didn't seem right for her to make his efforts worth nothing. Trying to ignore the sounds behind her, Hermione ran until she found another dark corner to Disapparate home.

As soon as she was inside the safety of her small home, she struggled to catch her breath. From being stopped by the man until she was pushing her front door open, no more than ten minutes could have passed. Several minutes ticked by before she was able to convince herself that she wasn't completely mad. Thanks to her carelessness, that night could have ended in tragedy. To think that she was not only saved at the last moment, but saved by _him_ was enough to make her head spin. How could she explain his presence? After ten years of being a practical ghost, she couldn't believe he would just show up right when she needed him.

Deciding that she had had enough excitement for one night, she checked that all of her doors and windows were locked. Once up the narrow staircase to the first floor she stepped into the safety of her bedroom. Her curtains were open allowing a glimpse of the first snowflakes that were beginning to fall. Taking another deep breath, she willed herself to calm down. She was safe. She hadn't been hurt.

A dark flash of movement just outside caught her attention. Next to her house was a small garden that her neighbor took a great deal of pride in when the weather was pleasant. Standing in the shadows up against the trunk of a tree, her rescuer made his presence known. Hermione paused for a couple of beats in her window to allow him to see that she'd made it home safely before pulling the curtains closed.

When she slipped under the covers of her bed a short time later, she fell asleep thinking about the man outside her house. A rational mind would be frightened to know that Fenrir Greyback was just a short distance away. For a reason she couldn't explain and certainly one that made very little sense, Hermione felt comforted knowing he was out there.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Nothing proved a big enough motivation for Hermione to exit the safety of her small house all weekend long. She was pleased to see that there was plenty of food in her kitchen to get her through the days until she was required to face the world again. Even further incentive to stay inside was the fact that it snowed off and on all weekend. Though there wasn't much accumulation, she felt more comfortable staying inside her cozy, warm home with Crookshanks for company than braving the outdoors.

She hadn't realized how rattled she was by the incident with the Muggle robber until she had time to think and dwell on it and obsess over it. So much could have gone wrong. Lord Voldemort might not be out there running amok with his masked band of Death Eaters, but that didn't mean there weren't other dangers. The world was a scary place. Sometimes she found it easy to forget that simple fact. In her insulated world, she felt safe and confident. As one of the main players in helping to bring down the evil Dark wizard, there was a great deal of respect afforded her for her role. Even an Order of Merlin, First Class.

But, a fancy medal and a generous monetary prize weren't enough to keep her away from everything and everyone that wanted to hurt her. She knew it was unwise to take Muggles for granted. Magic wasn't the answer to everything. Nor did it protect her from everything. It was foolish to get so complacent about her own safety. If Fenrir Greyback hadn't been there…

Shaking her head as if she could dislodge her thoughts about the enigmatic werewolf who showed up at just the perfect moment, she was glad, for the first time in a long time, that none of her friends invited her out that weekend. She wasn't ready to step outside her front door. Part of her feared that what happened to her was written all over her face. She didn't want to have to explain to Harry or Ron or Ginny or anyone really how close she had actually gotten to being seriously injured. They would all give her the same well-intentioned, but patronizing lecture she'd heard a thousand times. Besides, if she told anyone about how she was almost robbed, she would have to tell them how she was saved. Somehow the idea of admitting that the notorious werewolf kept her safe made her uneasy. She didn't want anyone to know yet that he was alive.

Several times over the course of the weekend she spent cooped up indoors, she peeked out the tiniest break in her curtains to see if she could catch a glimpse of the man. When it was dark, he was easy to spot standing in the shadows of the garden. As soon as the sun came up, he was nowhere to be found. Even a werewolf required sleep from time to time, she assumed. Why he felt the urge to keep watch outside of her home was a complete mystery.

Perhaps even more mysterious than just his mere presence was the fact that the comforting feeling of knowing he was close by didn't dissipate. She assumed that once the initial shock of Friday night's ordeal wore off, she would once again be terrified of the being that had been a frequent guest star in her nightmares once upon a time. To her surprise, she never once felt scared. Either that was a mark of how exceptionally lonely she'd been for a long time or proof that the years changed them both.

By Monday morning she couldn't stay hidden in her home any longer. Because she was infamous for working much more than she should, any deviation in her schedule would be suspicious. The Minister for Magic himself might be tempted to show up at her front door if she wasn't in the building at her usual time. Kingsley was a dear man who never once made it a secret that he thought she should take better care of herself, maybe even allow some of those walls she'd built around her to slip a little to let someone else in. He could be frightfully nurturing at times, nothing like his formidable Minister persona. The public saw the man one way. She was pleased that he considered her enough of a friend to show her a different side.

The sun wasn't up yet when she made her first step out of the door. Though not officially winter by the reckoning of the calendar, it was far enough along in the year that the days were short and the nights were long. A slight nervousness fell over the witch as she turned around to lock her front door. She could _feel_ his eyes on her even if he'd made an effort to hide in the shadows. It should have scared her, should have made her run straight for the aurors. It hadn't been _that_ long ago that he stood over her bruised and battered form practically salivating from the desire he had to claim her when Bellatrix Lestrange was finished with her torture. Nothing about him felt the same that it did. She wouldn't excuse his terrible crimes in the past. But, she couldn't deny that she felt _safer_ when he was near.

She didn't need to turn around to know that he was following her. Because she bought a house in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood, some foolish effort to remember her roots or some such rubbish, Hermione had to walk a short distance to find an empty alley to Disapparate. Her neighbors were already a suspicious, untrusting lot. If they didn't witness her walking out of her home in the morning and then back in it at night at least every now and then, there would be a number of questions. As much as it might have been convenient to Disapparate in and out of her living room each day, it wasn't practical.

Once at her intended Disapparition point, Hermione turned to glance over her shoulder at her shadow. He didn't say a word, didn't even make an attempt to explain why he was there. His behavior was odd. It should have unnerved her, but it didn't. Without speaking to him or even nodding in his direction, she spun in place. Moments later she was standing in front of the employee entrance to the Ministry. She lingered for a few moments, waiting to see if he was going to follow her there. When it became evident that he wasn't, she slipped inside the entrance, pushing down any creeping disappointment.

By the time her assistant arrived at their dingy, little office at a much more socially acceptable time of the morning, Hermione was deep in the day's work. She found the distraction to be pleasant. There was some truth to the statement that her ex, the handsome auror, used to say about her that almost inevitably ended in a giant row. She liked work _too_ much. It gave her the opportunity to ignore the rest of the world. Sometimes an escape was necessary for a person's well-being and peace of mind. Hermione feared that maybe he was right that she took it just a little too far.

"Please tell me you didn't stay here all night on Friday."

Robert picked up a finished copy of the proposal that had consumed much of their days the previous week. He was also of the opinion that his direct supervisor worked too much. Though he wasn't always quick to point it out in such a bald manner, she knew that it embarrassed him when she had to pick up his slack on the days he was recovering each month from the Full Moon. A kind man who frequently felt guilt for what was not his fault and what could not be changed, she'd tried many times over the years that they worked together to convince him that she _liked_ working.

"I was here a little late on Friday."

That was as much as she was willing to admit. Part of her wanted to unburden her soul to tell him about the _incident_ out in the streets. He wasn't near as likely to lecture her about her actions as others in her life would. Those who knew him before he was bitten right after Hogwarts confirmed her suspicions that he had always been a bit shy. Hermione only vaguely remembered him as being one of the Ravenclaw prefects the first couple of years she was in the castle. He was a man who liked order and discipline, but he was far from confrontational.

"But enough about _my_ Friday. How did your date go?"

The sudden bright red blush to his cheeks made her smile. Maybe it was a bit cruel to use his embarrassment to change the subject. Robert Hilliard would make a fine catch for the intelligent woman who could see past his affliction straight to his warm heart. There was so much about him that even Hermione didn't know. He was a private man, careful with his relationships. Their working relationship was solid and it went beyond to a friendship she cherished. At times, even though she was younger, she felt like his big sister giving him advice, encouraging him to do something that frightened him, or wishing she could kick the arse of anyone who dared to hurt him. Other times, he offered her well thought-out advice that made a part of her long for the older brother she'd never had.

"It was _lovely_."

She bit back a chuckle, not wanting to make the wizard feel even more uncomfortable than he already did. All of her other friends were in serious relationships. Whenever they were all together, the rest would naturally pair off leaving her to feel as if she stuck out. It was a feeling she loathed. Sure, there were men out there who were interested in dating her for no other reason than her fame. A tedious reason to be sure, but there had been more than just a handful of cretins approach her feigning to be interested in hopes that some of her fame would rub off on them. It had been a hard lesson to learn and the very reason why she was exceedingly careful about who she allowed into the walls Kingsley was so determined she tear down.

"You can't tell me more than that? Or, is it that a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell?"

The darkening of the red in his cheeks proved her suspicions. Robert's date with the witch in the Improper Use of Magic Office had gone very well indeed. She was happy for him even if the tiniest stab of envy poked at her chest. While there had never been anything remotely close to resembling romantic affection for the man, she adored him and wanted him to find love. Being a werewolf in their world made those two items that most everyone else took for granted a near impossibility. _That_ was why she was so determined to be successful in tearing down the anti-werewolf legislation. For people like Robert. He deserved to be just as happy as everyone else. Some monster biting him at the wrong time of the month shouldn't have had the power to take that away from him. Life was incredibly unfair. Hermione would keep fighting to right those wrongs.

"We did make plans to see each other again this Friday."

She knew Robert well enough to know that those were the only juicy details she would be getting. If the witch in the department upstairs didn't know what a jewel she had, Hermione would make her come to regret hurting him.

"I'm glad to hear that it all went well for you, Robert."

"Thank you." He cleared his throat in an effort to move past the shy embarrassment he was still feeling. "And your weekend? How was it?"

"Quiet."

No further details were forthcoming, but that didn't stop Robert from narrowing his eyes slightly while he stared at his supervisor. One lesson she'd learned about the man from the very beginning of their working relationship was the fact that he was exceptionally perceptive. Hermione wasn't sure if that was a trait that came to him naturally or one that he acquired with his other supernatural abilities after his transformation into a werewolf. It honestly didn't matter. Many times throughout the few years they worked together she caught him staring at her in just the same manner. Usually, he kept his thoughts to himself. Only occasionally would he share them.

Hermione knew almost nothing about the attack that changed his life irrevocably. As she quickly discovered working with other werewolves in their society, asking one about their attacks could be considered highly intrusive, even offensive. There were a lot of lessons she was still learning. Robert offered her no hint of what happened. She could only imagine that the event itself had been so traumatic that he didn't want to dwell on it. That was understandable, of course, even if her curiosity made her want to throw all propriety aside and ask. Maybe one day he would offer the story in his own timing. She knew enough about him to know that Robert wasn't likely to say more than he meant to.

"I know it's none of my business, but you really should think about dating again, Hermione. How long as it been?"

She sighed, not wanting to travel down that familiar heartbreaking road. Her love life was dismal at best. Once she realized how many leeches only wanted her on their arm for the privilege of getting closer to the "Chosen One", she hadn't wanted to try again. Each time she passed her handsome auror ex-boyfriend in the Ministry canteen or they managed to make it on the same lift, she would think about how much she missed the feeling of being in a relationship. She might have loved Crookshanks dearly, but he was no suitable substitute for the feel of a man in her life. The beloved half-kneazle certainly wasn't able to fill that empty hole in her bed either.

"Oh, let's not have this discussion today please."

"What about the Minister? Wasn't he just down here a couple of weeks ago offering to set you up with his cousin?"

Hermione felt a scowl creep up on her face. She adored Kingsley. Part of her fancied him ever since the night they rode on the back of a thestral together to fight Death Eaters during the war. She _might_ have been willing to accept an invitation to dinner from the devastatingly attractive Minister. His cousin, however, wasn't going to happen. Unfortunately, it appeared that only one branch of the Shacklebolt family tree was blessed with gorgeous, intelligent members. She wasn't shallow enough to be unable to appreciate the company of a wizard because he was nowhere near as good-looking as his famous cousin. She could _not_ get past the idea of spending another moment alone with someone who couldn't find his arsehole with a map and a torch. Being with someone with whom she could have a lively conversation with was not too much to ask.

"I think I should get this proposal to the proper departments."

Her assistant didn't bring up her dating life for the rest of the day. She knew it was foolish to hope that that would be the end of the conversation. It wasn't that she _wanted_ to be alone. Far from it, actually. She desired what everyone else in her life seemed to possess. Being alone was hard. Some days she feared that she would feel that way for the rest of her life. Was it any wonder that she found the very idea that there was someone out there watching over her from the shadows so appealing? For the first time in a long time, she felt the heavy yoke of loneliness slip just the tiniest bit.

When her mind fixated on Fenrir Greyback, she knew she wouldn't be able to get any further work done. Each time she looked at a piece of parchment she was working on to see the word 'werewolf', all she could think about was the man who stayed in the shadows outside of her home the entire weekend. She remembered the moment she recognized who he was on that dark street with the Muggle on the ground at their feet. An overwhelming _relief_ passed over her where fear should have been her first instinct. Putting any amount of trust in a monster was a dangerous prospect. She could very well come to regret it.

The hour was nowhere near as late on Monday night when she chose to leave her office as it had been on Friday. There were even other officials still milling about in the Atrium when she made her exit. It was just beginning to get dark when she stepped outside. Remembering the street she'd been caught in by the Muggle, Hermione began walking in the opposite direction to find the closest dark corner to Disapparate from. Security measures within the Ministry prevented any kind of Apparition or portkey within the walls of the building. There were a few _incidents_ in the past that made the inclusion of the heavy wards necessary.

She was nervous about being alone out in the streets again. Even if she was planning to leave the first chance she could, there was still a measure of vulnerability she faced. The subtle raising of the hair on the back of her neck informed her that she wasn't alone. Cautiously peering over her shoulder, afraid of who she might see, Hermione almost sighed in relief when she saw the familiar werewolf meters away watching her from the dark shadows surrounding a nearby building. Just as he did that morning, there was no indication that he wished to speak to her. He only watched.

Deciding that she wasn't ready to go back home just yet, the witch set her determination on another destination entirely. Moments later her feet landed on familiar stones. Her curiosity got the better of her. Before she would tap on the correct combination of bricks to open the entrance to Diagon Alley, she waited. Would he be able to find her again? She knew it was foolish, dangerous even to tempt the werewolf. He was an unknown variable, a creature that she _knew_ was capable of savagery and murder. Anyone who discounted the truth of his past was a fool. She sighed as she tapped the bricks with her wand.

Even with Christmas still weeks away, Diagon Alley was already in festive spirits. Lights twinkled from most of the shop windows. A few decorations were already scattered around with promises that more would soon follow. All evidence of the light snow from the weekend was gone, leaving only a slush on the ancient cobblestones. With a chill in the air, Hermione pulled her cloak tighter. The feeling from earlier of her hair on the back of her neck rising returned after she had only been inside for a few minutes.

She didn't need to turn around to confirm with her eyes what she already knew. Sounds of the bustling shopping district might have been loud enough to drown out his footsteps, but she didn't need to hear them to know Fenrir Greyback was only steps behind. Why he had a sudden interest in her whereabouts was a mystery. One she, surprisingly, wasn't in a hurry to solve.

If he had not been there that dreadful night the Muggle tried to rob her on the empty street, she wasn't sure what would have happened. Likely nothing good. Knowing that he was right behind her again, ever vigilant in case of more danger befalling her, only warmed her further like another cloak had been wrapped around her shoulders. Maybe one day soon she would know what he desired. Until then, Hermione was simply going to enjoy the warmth.

She took her time deciding which store to go into first. If she was honest, there was really no need for her to be there other than she just didn't want to go home yet. The idea of returning to the same place she was cooped up in all weekend was unpalatable. At least she didn't have to worry about being attacked by a random Muggle in the midst of the other witches and wizards. Flourish and Blotts was always a temptation, but she stopped herself from entering the familiar establishment. Buying another book she wouldn't be able to find time to read was just a waste of money. There were stacks and stacks inside her house that she hadn't once cracked open. She sped up her steps when she passed by the apothecary owned by her other ex-boyfriend. Though he wasn't the sort to seek her out and cause a scene, it would be best for all involved if she just avoided him. Especially if her shadow was tempted to protect her again.

Finally, she opened the door to her favorite stationary store. Her personal supply of parchment was well-stocked, but she had trouble saying no to new quills. One of her favorite parts of living in the wizarding world were the writing utensils. It had taken her a long time to get used to using something other than a pen. Once she did, she couldn't imagine going back. She turned the corner to slip into the aisles just as the bell above the door tinkled its announcement that another soul had joined her in the small shop. Hermione didn't even need to look over her shoulder to know who it was.

Ten years changed the werewolf's appearance to the point that he wasn't easily recognizable. If his voice wasn't so thoroughly ingrained in her mind, she might not have realized who he was the night he was protecting her from her attacker. The worst of his scars were hidden behind facial hair that he didn't have before. His hair was longer. Some of the swagger and confidence that filled his every step years earlier was missing. He walked with a purpose, but it was evident he preferred not to have all eyes on him any longer. Nothing at all like the past. He used to abhor standing in the shadows. Now, he embraced them.

It was curious that he was able to find her in Diagon Alley after following her from the Ministry. Hermione wondered how he knew where to go. A discreet check with her wand for tracking spells on her person or possessions came up negative. However he was finding her, it wasn't with magic. Because she was still not ready to speak to the werewolf for fear of what she might actually say, Hermione pretended like she didn't know he was only steps away as she wandered the entire store.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed in the shop. No more than half an hour for sure. With each step she took, she felt the presence of her shadow close by. When she finally picked up three violet quills to take to the counter, she knew he was watching her every move. The shopkeeper was familiar with Hermione. They exchanged simple pleasantries while he rang up her purchase. She reached into her handbag to pull out enough funds to cover her small purchase.

A mild panic overtook Hermione when she couldn't find her wallet. Digging through the bag and then finally dumping out most of the contents onto the shop counter didn't help. Feeling flustered and nervous with both men intently watching her frantic mess, she searched and searched to no avail. The memory of her handbag spilling out on the pavement when it went flying out of her would-be robber's hand struck her suddenly. She _thought_ she'd summoned everything that fell, but it had been so chaotic and dark. There had been no need for her to verify that her wallet was still in her handbag while she spent the weekend at home.

The loss of the small bit of money that was inside it was no big deal. She didn't carry any credit cards that she had to worry about cancelling. Her Muggle father impressed the importance of remaining out of debt if at all possible on her from a young age. The only worry she had was the fact that she carried a Muggle identification card in her wallet. A card that clearly showed her picture and her home address. The mild panic increased as she threw everything she dumped onto the counter into her handbag. Calling over her shoulder to the shopkeeper her apologies, Hermione rushed from the shop.

She didn't know if Greyback was behind her or not. In that moment, she didn't much care about anything else. If the men who came to the aid of the Muggle who tried to rob her stumbled upon her wallet, they would know exactly where she lived. Something about the whole situation disturbed her more than she wanted to admit. Finding the first place she could to Disapparate, Hermione returned to her neighborhood.

If she had a cooler mind and was able to think clearly in her panic, she would have approached the front door of her house slowly, at a distance. Instead, she gave no thought to what could be just around the corner. She had to see her house, had to put her fears to rest. From a few meters away, all seemed normal. If her Muggle neighbors walked past her home during one of their evening walks, nothing would have been amiss in their eyes. It was only when she was right at her front door that she realized it was unlocked and slightly ajar.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Logic and reason were usually the first to go when someone was stuck in panic mode. Though Hermione was well aware of the fact that rushing off towards her home was dangerous, she did it anyway. The Sorting Hat hadn't put her in Gryffindor for no reason after all. There was a streak of foolish bravado in all of them that was difficult to squash even with a clear head. At times she felt like she was held to a higher standard than everyone else in her life. Hermione wasn't allowed to make mistakes like a normal, imperfect human being. It could be more than a little frustrating to have constant perfection expected of her at all times.

Yes, it would have made more sense to hide in the shadows watching her house for any signs of an intruder before she ran for the front door, but it was characteristic of a Gryffindor who spent a good portion of her adolescence in danger to act first and think later. One couldn't be Harry Potter's best friend without being prepared to run off into battle at a moment's notice. Even in times of peace and relative security, old habits died hard. It was only as she stared at the slightly open door that she was one hundred percent certain she closed and locked that morning that she decided approaching alone without any sort of backup was a dangerous move. Gryffindoric bravery would only get her so far.

At least she had a firm grip on her wand that time. International Statute of Secrecy be damned, she wouldn't let the filthy man touch her again. She wouldn't let _any_ man touch her without her permission. If she had to curse him and ask forgiveness later, she would. She didn't _think_ she would get into much trouble from the Ministry, but if she did, she wasn't going to hesitate to use her friendship with the Minister for Magic to her advantage. Kingsley would approve of her defending herself if it came down to it.

Before she could take the first step into her home, she felt the prickling of the skin at the back of her neck that had become an almost common occurrence since the previous Friday night when all of her problems began. Surprised that it had taken Fenrir Greyback several minutes to follow her home from Diagon Alley, Hermione tried unsuccessfully to ignore the relief she felt knowing he was there. _That_ was a problem to save for later when she wasn't terrified that there were strange men in her home waiting to exact their revenge on her as soon as she stepped inside the door.

In times past when she felt the enigmatic werewolf lingering just inside the shadows on the outskirts of her life, he wouldn't approach her. Not unless she was being attacked by a Muggle, of course. He would simply watch her from a safe distance. When she turned around to look for him at the first hint he'd arrived, she was startled to find him only inches away. Stealth was evidently a skill he excelled at when it suited him. So was understanding when something was wrong. Maybe she made a bigger fool of herself in the stationary shop than she was aware of or perhaps more likely, he could just sense something was off.

If Hermione were to utilize reason and logic in this situation, she would've recognized that there was no greater danger to her safety than the man she was inexplicably glad to have at her back. Logic would tell her to forget the Muggle intruders and immediately alert the aurors of the homicidal werewolf that everyone believed dead for over a decade. She would _not_ look to him as an ally, as someone with the ability to help keep her safe. Trusting her instincts and eschewing rationality and what she read in her books was already difficult. In that moment, however, she intuitively knew that Fenrir Greyback would never hurt her again.

He didn't say a word. Didn't even need to. With a questioning raise of a single eyebrow, Hermione knew what he was asking without speaking. Her intuition, far from being logical and rational, took over again.

"The door was open. I _know_ I locked it this morning. I think my wallet fell out of my handbag _that_ night."

Fenrir turned his gaze to the door, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. With a single step forward, he placed his body between hers and the entrance to her home. Perhaps it was done as an instinctual move to shield her from any potential danger inside. Hermione didn't really care. The fact that he didn't question her fears or dismiss her concerns as irrational flights of fancy was encouraging. It was rare that _anyone_ she knew just trusted what she said without question. Knowing that she wasn't about to be forced to prove herself affected her more than she realized in that moment.

He gently pushed the door open no more than inch or two further. A sudden inhale and flaring of his nostrils proved he was relying on the prodigious sense of smell that came with his affliction. His lip curled into a slight sneer, evidently not caring much for what he smelled. Hermione felt her stomach twist further in its anxiety. _Someone_ had been in her home. Maybe they were still there. It was the violation of her privacy and her sense of security that was difficult to bear. Would she ever feel safe again in her own home?

She kept her eyes focused on the man standing only inches away. Once upon a time she remembered him being a creature who enjoyed bragging and boasting. He would force anyone who had the displeasure of his company into loud bursts of declarations of his intentions. Especially during the horrible time when Voldemort was in charge that last year, Greyback felt a confidence that allowed him to go through Wizarding Britain without fear. She would never forget the night she laid on the floor of Malfoy Manor terrified out of her wits as he made it clear that he had plans for her sweet, young flesh. Whatever happened to him in the years following the end of the war changed him into someone she didn't recognize. Maybe _that_ was why she wasn't afraid of him as she should've been. She was in too much shock from the change to think clearly.

He pushed the door open further and took a step inside. As frightened as she was about what was going to potentially happen next, Hermione didn't want to be left standing alone outside. With every ounce of determination she could muster and a tight grip on her wand, she followed the werewolf inside. All hope that there was simply a problem with the lock on her front door disappeared instantly.

 _Someone_ had been inside her home. By the looks of the living room, it was likely that _several_ someones were in there at some point that day. Hermione had only ever seen a house completely ransacked and destroyed in the movies. Never did she think she'd walk inside her home to find just about everything she owned broken. Giant rips in her upholstered furniture covered ever square centimeter of the room in the soft, white filling that once made them squashy and comfortable. Feathers from the pillows that once sat on her couch floated in the air. Every single picture frame she owned was smashed, glass crunched under their feet as they walked slowly further inside. The level of destruction must have taken hours or a small army.

She was grateful that she didn't really own many valuables. There were no expensive electronics or priceless jewelry to steal. Anything that had any value at all, her Order of Merlin medal and her late parents' wedding bands, were locked safely up in her Gringott's vault. _Stuff_ never much interested Hermione. She was more interested in knowledge and experiences than items that just collected dust and cluttered up empty spaces. Besides, it wasn't as if she spent a great deal of time at home to begin with. Most days it was just simply a place to sleep a few hours before returning to the Ministry.

The house was eerily silent. Either the perpetrators of the disgusting crime were long gone or waiting silently in some dark corner to jump out at them to exact their revenge in a more physical display. She was tempted to cast a _Homenum Revelio_ spell to see for herself if they were alone, but stopped herself. If a Muggle was present and she cast the spell, a representative from the Ministry would be there to investigate. The last thing she needed was Fenrir Greyback's presence to be noted in her house. Somehow she doubted Harry would just ignore that revelation. She had enough to worry about without the added aggravation of her boys showing up.

Harry was likely to do something obnoxious like insist she have auror protection. _And_ , knowing how much he wished she and her ex-boyfriend Iain would get back together, he'd order Auror Proudfoot to be her personal guard. She couldn't resist the eyeroll at that prospect. _Too_ complicated. Given the opportunity, she also was afraid Ron would take this incident as an excuse to encourage his brother Charlie to come back to the country. Once it was clear their relationship wasn't in their best interest, he'd gone down the line of his eligible brothers, fixating on the idea that the dragon keeper would somehow make her a good husband. As much as she liked Charlie, she just couldn't see a future with the man.

When it was clear no one was going to pop out at them in the living room, Fenrir continued his meticulous investigation by climbing up the narrow staircase to her first floor. With each step closer and closer to her bedroom, Hermione found herself growing ever more nervous and uncomfortable. It was one thing to have the practical stranger in her living room and quite another to have him in the more private areas that few ever got to see. Even in the midst of the stressful situation she was in, her mind kept jumping back to wondering how much time had passed since the last time she had a man in her bedroom. Because it was both a depressing thought and because she didn't want to decipher what it must mean that imagining Fenrir Greyback, of all people, in her room didn't bother her as much as it should, Hermione turned her attention to the shattered glass of the framed pictures lining her walls on either side of her stairs.

It was fortunate that she didn't openly display any of her wizarding photographs around her house. She could only imagine what the wretched Muggles would think of pictures that moved. Most of the evidence that she was a witch was kept either at her office or warded safely in the desk in her spare bedroom. A sweet, elderly lady who lived two doors down from her came once a week to tidy up her house for a little bit of money. Any sort of housecleaning that Hermione needed done could have been easily accomplished by a wave of her wand and a simple incantation, but soon after moving in, she met Margaret. She was a widow who was just barely making ends meet with her pension. It was mostly charity that Hermione offered disguised in such a way to not injure the kind woman's pride. Having a Muggle as the only regular visitor she had meant that she had to be careful what magic items were easily accessible.

The spare bedroom at the top of the stairs was in the same mess that the downstairs was in. Fenrir examined every corner, every potential hiding place in the small room while Hermione tried not to cry at the level of senseless destruction. What was the purpose of shredding her mattress to bits? Why would anyone want to rip her drapes to pieces? She didn't understand why she was the target of such an attack. Though she didn't see what happened after she ran away, she didn't _think_ Fenrir savagely murdered the Muggle who attacked her first. All in all, based on what she saw, the notorious werewolf was quite restrained in his actions. He could've easily ripped the man to tiny bits just like her mattress. How was tracking her down and destroying everything she owned an appropriate payback? He should've just been thankful for the fifty pounds she had in her wallet and gone on.

Once he was satisfied that there was no one hiding under the bed or in the cupboards, Fenrir crossed the narrow corridor to Hermione's bedroom. She didn't know why she was so embarrassed to have the man inside the room she slept. It wasn't as if he could really see how it normally looked. Everything was smashed or ripped or shredded. She felt her cheeks burn when she stepped in the room behind him to find that every piece of clothing she owned, right down to her frilliest of pink knickers, was strewn across the space. When she realized he was stepping over her most mortifying of inappropriate black lingerie that Iain liked to see her in for about half a second before he ripped it off her body, she wanted to melt into a puddle in the floor. For a reason she couldn't understand, the intruders left those items perfectly intact. There was no way the werewolf didn't know what he was looking at when he stepped over them to verify that there was no one hiding underneath the ruined mattress or taking shelter in the attached bathroom. At least he wasn't the sort of man to draw attention to her humiliation. Maybe he would have years earlier, but this man was different. He didn't even clear his throat or look in her direction. What he must have been thinking was a complete mystery to the lady of the house.

To get her mind on anything else, Hermione focused on the ripped pages of her books covering every surface. She had always had a bad habit of leaving a tall stack of books next to her bed. The arseholes took delight in ripping the pages from the covers and haphazardly throwing them where they wished. She was of the opinion that there was a special place in hell for those who treated the written word so disrespectfully. Thinking about what she would like to do to them if given the opportunity for ruining her books helped her to not focus on the fact that the werewolf had seen her knickers.

Truthfully, it wouldn't take her long to repair everything that was broken. Being a witch came with some wonderful perks. She could put everything back just the way it was that morning before she left for work. Few things, if anything really, would need to be replaced. Over the years she'd become an expert at repairing and cleaning charms. She wouldn't even have to worry about where she was going to sleep that night. One spell would make her mattress as good as new. It was the senselessness of the act that bothered her most. Part of her wanted to cross paths with the Muggle and his mates again just so she might understand what their reasoning was.

Once it was clear that no one was upstairs, Hermione followed Fenrir back down the stairs to the ground floor. The downstairs loo was inspected quickly. Only a broken mirror and a ripped hand towel proved anyone had been in there. Though she knew to expect the kitchen would likely be bad, a gasp of surprise slipped from her mouth at actually witnessing it firsthand. All of her dishes and glasses were shattered in pieces on the floor. Drawers were ripped out and overturned. Cabinet doors hung half on where they'd been pulled on.

Fenrir went straight for the backdoor. The point of entrance was clear. Whomever was responsible for the destruction kicked in her door. None of her neighbors were home during the day. Most had jobs. Some of the elder residents spent their days with others their age walking the streets when the weather was nice or playing cards when it wasn't. She had the feeling that if she went up and down her small street asking if anyone had seen anything suspicious that day, they would all tell her no.

An orange blur of movement startled Hermione out of her thoughts. She pointed her wand at her kitchen table, ready to curse, if necessary. Crookshanks' loud, angry mewling calmed her down. She felt her shoulders sag with relief knowing that her cat was all right. In all of the chaos she hadn't even stopped for a moment to think about where he was during the ordeal. Fenrir sniffed the air and moved closer to her cat. To her surprise, Crookshanks wasn't bothered at all by the werewolf's presence in her kitchen. When she witnessed the man pick up her cat's paw to examine it, she was even more surprised. Her familiar was very particular about who he allowed to touch him. Even some of her oldest friends weren't given the honor. A dark red spot on the animal's fur pushed all thoughts beyond his welfare aside.

"Is he hurt?"

Fenrir turned his head in her direction when he had a closer look. The first of his smiles she could ever recall seeing transformed his face.

"It's not his blood."

The werewolf turned his attention back to the cat. Releasing his grip on his paw, Fenrir smoothed his palm up and down Crookshanks' fur.

"Brave, wee creature you are, protecting your home."

When he started scratching behind his ears, her cat rubbed his head against his hand, his purring loud enough to be heard across the room. Hermione was shocked. Her half-kneazle had never been terribly trusting and as he'd gotten older, he was even more suspicious. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard him purr for anyone other than her before. At least not for many years. Part of her felt a little jealous.

"They might be back. You must strengthen your wards. Put up a Muggle-repelling charm."

His suggestions broke the spell that fell over the room. Hermione wasn't used to anyone giving her orders in her own home. While she appreciated him being present for the inspection of the house, that didn't give him the right to tell her what she should do.

"I can't do that."

When she explained that she couldn't put up spells to keep Muggles away because of her little, old neighbor that came in once a week to clean, he gave Crookshanks one last scratch and turned his full attention on her. Clearly, he was of the opinion that she was being foolish. Maybe she was, but she knew that Margaret relied on the little bit that she gave her each week. To suddenly tell the woman that she wasn't needed anymore, even though she truly wasn't, would have broken her heart and sent her into a worry. He clenched his jaw.

"It's not safe to allow Muggles to enter your home until we're sure they won't come back. Strengthen your wards."

She pushed aside the "we're" part of his statement for the moment to focus on the fact that he was trying to tell her what to do again. What gave him the right? Beyond knowing that she would have to deny Margaret entrance to her home with the additional wards, she didn't like the idea of hiding behind spells because of the awful Muggles. It felt like she was letting them win by adjusting her life against her will. Maybe it was those same Gryffindor traits that made her rush towards potential dangers, but she didn't want to do as was suggested. When she repeated herself, Fenrir sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You're a stubborn little witch, aren't you?"

Whether he meant that as a compliment or an insult was unclear. Perhaps understanding that he wasn't going to get any further, Fenrir moved towards the damaged back door. He stepped outside into the garden to complete his tour of her property. She followed him out to where he was staring at her open gate with a scowl.

"Was this even locked?"

It shamed her just a bit to have to shake her head. She'd never seen the need for a lock on the back gate. There wasn't anything of value in her back garden and until that night, she always thought she lived in a relatively safe area. He didn't care for her answer at all if his annoyed expression was any indication.

"You are a woman living alone in a large city. You should be more careful."

The very idea that he was implying she was somehow helpless just because she was a woman irritated Hermione. His implication was obnoxious and sexist. Hadn't she proven herself capable of taking care of herself over the years? She'd ridden on the back of a fucking dragon, after all! _She_ was the one of the winning side of the war, not him. No, she couldn't deny that it had been comforting for him to suddenly show up when she was alone and standing in front of her open door, but she didn't _need_ him.

With a wave of his wand, the gate that had always been a bit rickety and difficult to latch was fixed. He closed it. A conjured lock appeared to secure the garden gate. When he was satisfied with his work, he turned to face her again, his frustration still evident.

"Any wizard worth a damn can unlock it, but it should at least stop a Muggle."

She followed him back inside the broken back door. A _reparo_ was all that was required to get it back into perfect shape. He closed and latched it when they were both inside. Hermione wasn't sure what to expect next. Was he going to argue with her again about her security? Tell her what a fool she was being for not covering every square inch in heavy spells? His boldness didn't surprise her. His impressive spellwork, however, _did_. In seemingly no time at all, every piece of crockery and glassware floated in the air repairing themselves and settling back in their proper places in the cupboards. It was an intricate orchestra of movements and spells, working together to make the room better than new. When the corner of his eye caught her staring with wide eyes, he smirked.

"Did you forget that I was a wizard before I was bitten?"

It was the first mention of who he actually was, _what_ he actually was, since they spoke for the first time in ten years days earlier. She hated to admit that he was right. Based on the past, it was easy to forget he hadn't always been a violent monster intent on biting small children to overpopulate their society with malleable, young werewolves. Unsure what to say or even how she was supposed to feel, Hermione crossed to the door leading to the living room, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

She needed something to keep her mind occupied until she was ready to face the reality of the predicament she was in. How could she explain the fearsome werewolf being invited into her home? Being _welcomed_ into her home? She set about clearing up the mess in the living room in a much less elegant manner than Fenrir had in the room next door. It didn't matter. The results were much the same. Only a few minutes passed before she had the battered and broken room back to its usual plain and ordinary self. Though she felt him just behind her on the stairs, she didn't turn around or acknowledge him.

Fenrir rushed into the spare bedroom to Hermione's relief. She wasn't sure she was up to having him present in her bedroom again, especially not after the embarrassment of knowing he'd seen the delicate clothing she shared with very, _very_ few others. Thanks to the fact that she truly didn't own a lot, it didn't take either one of them long to repair what had been damaged.

When she walked him to the front door only a short time later after all traces of her intruders were gone, she didn't know what to say. Would they go back to him watching her from the shadows while she pretended she didn't know he was there? Was everything different? And if it was, _what_ was it? Were they friends? Or just acquaintances who shared a bonding experience that night in the dark street?

"Thank you. I appreciate your help this evening."

"Strengthen your wards."

The werewolf didn't say anything else beyond his repeated order as he exited out into the cold night. She closed the door behind him, locked it, and reluctantly placed a _temporary_ locking ward on it that would discourage any Muggle from approaching her door. There seemed no harm in doing it at night while she slept at any rate.

She waited a few minutes after he left before she peeked out through a small crack in her newly repaired drapes. Standing in the same spot he had been each time she looked outside at night, he watched her house from the safety of her next door neighbor's garden. It should've made her mad that he was so insistent that she should be more careful as a single woman living alone, but knowing that he was just outside calmed her more than she wanted to admit.

Feeling exhausted but a little hungry after her ordeal, Hermione crossed the room towards her kitchen. No doubt Crookshanks would be grateful for something to eat after his harrowing adventure as well. Two steps into the kitchen she stopped in her tracks. Left in the middle of the kitchen table were the three violet quills she left on the counter of the stationary shop. She wondered if she would ever understand what the man was up to.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Despite feeling tired down to her very bones after the harrowing ordeal of the evening, Hermione struggled to get to sleep long after she had Fenrir's assistance bringing her house back into order. Every time she turned over in bed or heard one of the dozens of innocuous noises that houses made, she feared that she was about to be attacked by the hateful Muggles. Knowing that her home had been breached by strangers made her feel violated in a manner she had never experienced before. Her home had always been her safe haven, her sanctuary. Following the scene she stumbled upon that evening, she worried that she might never feel that way again.

Because she was usually so selective about the people she allowed in her home to begin with, the break in and vandalism of all of her belongings was so much worse in her mind. She _hated_ that there were strangers in what had been a private place. Would she ever feel comfortable there again? In the first few hours since coming home, she wasn't sure that was possible. She hoped that she had seen the last of the Muggles. They'd made their point. Maybe they'd even been able to find some souvenirs amongst her limited belongings to commemorate the occasion. As much as she hoped that she would never see them again, a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach encouraged her to remain vigilant for their return.

Eventually, she was able to fall asleep during the long night. Not nearly long enough to satisfy the exhaustion still plaguing her. _That_ would likely need several days' worth of rest to even put a dent in. Between her normal routine of working too hard and for too long, the events of Friday evening and Monday evening took more out of her than she realized. She slept right through her first alarm, something that never happened. When she finally heard it twenty minutes later, she was out of sorts. Getting out of her normal routine started her morning off on the wrong note.

Half an hour later than usual, she removed the damned Muggle-repelling charm Fenrir insisted she place on her door. She was half-tempted to leave it off, but the prickling of the hair on the back of her neck proved that he was nearby watching her every move. If she didn't reapply the ward, she would hear about it. She could just barely make out his silhouette in her neighbor's garden again. Had he been there all night? Or had he gone home when he was satisfied that she was safe inside, only to return at the usual time she left each morning? She had a number of questions, but for a reason she still didn't understand, she wasn't ready to ask. Maybe, if she was being honest with herself, she didn't want to tell him to bugger off. Not yet.

She hated the damned Muggles for depriving her of peace of mind in her own office as well. Had her home not been enough of an intrusion? Concentrating on her work was harder that wretched Tuesday morning than it had ever been. Work was usually what kept her grounded, relaxed. Nothing she looked at kept her attention long at all.

Twirling one of the violet quills the enigmatic werewolf left behind on her kitchen table, all she could really think about for longer than a few moments at a time was him. He'd come flying into her life again unexpectedly. If he had not simply appeared on the exact London street she needed him at the exact time she needed him, Hermione might have gone the rest of her life without even thinking once about his name again. Now, he'd made his presence, if not his purpose, known. Was there more to his seemingly incessant need to watch her home and follow her when it was dark? She knew she _should've_ been afraid of him, _should've_ reported him, but she wasn't and at least for the present, wouldn't.

Much about the werewolf was different than ten years earlier. If she didn't know his voice so well, she might have even believed that he was a completely different person entirely. Where was the monster who whispered in her ear how much he looked forward to biting her sweet, young flesh when Bellatrix was done with her that horrible night she wished she could forget? There had been no mistaking his intentions. _Biting_ wasn't all he had planned for her when she was to be handed over. She would always be grateful for the sacrifice dear Dobby made. If she was able to survive what other horrors awaited her, she would've been surprised. She was half-convinced Bellatrix wasn't going to stop until she was dead as it was.

 _Something_ drastic must've changed him in the ten years he was gone from their world. How else could his behavior be explained? She used to fear even hearing his name. Now she was allowing him into her home and even feeling safer when he was around? None of what was happening made the least bit of sense.

Fenrir Greyback was a monster. Full stop. He made it his mission to populate the world with werewolf children. Countless young witches and wizards, possibly even Muggles, were his victims. Some didn't survive their initial attacks or the trauma of their first transformation. Those that did were damned to a cursed life where their rights weren't guaranteed, forever shunned by a large portion of society. How could she possibly reconcile the beast that ruined Remus Lupin's life with the man who saved her from being robbed or possibly worse?

Her focus was still on the violet quill when her assistant entered their tiny office for the day. Robert must've found it strange to find her staring at a quill with the same intensity she usually reserved for a good book or informative memo. Usually when he arrived to begin his work day, she was already up to her elbows in parchment, furiously scribbling away. It was unlike her to be so still and so quiet.

"Everything all right, Hermione?"

So lost in her own thoughts, the witch wasn't even aware there was another soul in the same room. At the sound of his voice, she jumped, dropping the quill on the floor. Embarrassed to be caught unaware, she scrambled to pick up her quill and pretend everything was normal. Unfortunately, she knew she was unsuccessful. Robert might have been too kind to point it out, but the way he was pausing every few moments to look at her again made it evident that he was concerned. For half a second she considered telling him everything that had happened to her in the past few days, leaving out the werewolf, of course. The words were on the tip of her tongue when she stopped herself. Because he was such a caring man, he would only encourage her to report the two incidents to the proper authorities. Even include Harry in the conversation. _That_ would be a nightmare.

Her best friend worried about her enough. Since her parents' deaths, that concern only expanded exponentially. He didn't like her living alone. When she broke up with her auror boyfriend, he'd been furious because knowing that she was protected when he wasn't around helped him sleep better at night. With his whole 'saving people thing', he would never give her a moment's rest if he knew that she was possibly the target of further violence from ill-intentioned Muggles. Repeatedly in their recent past, she'd felt almost smothered by his concern and attention. It was all well-meant, naturally, but no less annoying.

"Oh, good morning, Robert. Yes, I'm all right. Just didn't get much sleep last night. Must still need some more caffeine."

He seemed content with her explanation. Regardless of how much she hated to admit it, she was often in strange moods around him. Working in such close confines with another meant that they were likely to see the worst sides of their co-workers. She'd certainly seen his irritable moods in the lead-up and aftermath of the Full Moon each month. And it wasn't much of a stretch to claim that she hadn't slept well nor was it a lie. With her usual punishing schedule, sleep was never a priority.

Determined that she wasn't going to let her work suffer because of events outside of her control when she was at home, Hermione made the decision to work harder at focusing. The case she was working on was interesting enough that she shouldn't have had any problems staying engaged and interested. A small commune of werewolves living together in a remote area of Scotland was planning to petition the Wizengamot for the ability to purchase more land. Their community was growing larger than its borders. To Hermione's horror, there were still Umbridge-Era restrictions on the property rights of known werewolves. Her goal was to abolish the restrictions in their entirety. Why should grown men and women who had no say in the tragedy that befell them be unable to provide for their families simply because of an ignorant prejudice?

Working on the commune case did indeed help her get her mind off of another werewolf. For a few hours, at least. Just before noon when they would both leave the office for lunch, her mind began to wander again. She was scratching out a note with her favorite old quill when the tip broke. Annoyed that she would have to stop to sharpen it, she picked up the discarded violet quill to continue her thought. She was only just able to get the last of her note down on the parchment before her mind turned back to the wrong werewolf.

Where did Fenrir spend his days? Did he use the time she was at work to go back to wherever his home was to sleep? She couldn't imagine that he was able to stay awake for twenty-four hours straight every single day. Not even a creature with supernatural abilities would be able to keep going for so long without rest. And when did he start following her? Had he been outside her house for a long time? Would she have even known he was there if she hadn't been foolish enough to ignore her surroundings? _Why_ did he care if she got hurt? He hadn't hesitated to attack the Muggle when his hands touched her body inappropriately. Was that what caused him to emerge from the shadows? Was _she_ the reason he was so angry?

Her mind was a mess. Every question left unanswered only spawned more. She would have to actually speak to the man to uncover the truth. Why did she feel safer knowing he was just outside her front door but she was afraid to actually have a conversation with him? Something wasn't right. Maybe she was afraid that her questions would break the strange spell that existed between them. She might even make him angry. The monster she knew he was was still inside him. Ten years away could've helped him figure out an effective persona to portray. That didn't mean he'd actually changed.

"Do you think people can actually change who they are in ten years?"

The question was rolling off her tongue before she could stop it. One of the biggest reasons she loved her job were the moments that she and Robert were able to relax a little bit in their office and have long, meaningful conversations. He offered an insight into issues that she never would've considered. She was able to do the same for him. Having an actual werewolf on staff working in their department was invaluable. There was so much she still didn't know about their corner of the wizarding world because she wasn't a member. It was a club that no one wanted to gain access to, but there were rules and customs that needed to be understood.

Robert wasn't bothered by the question. He set the parchment he'd been reading carefully down on the top of his desk. Leaning back slightly in his chair, he seemed to contemplate the meaning of her words. Hermione wished she could've been silent. What if she revealed too much? She didn't want to have to answer any uncomfortable questions. Fenrir Greyback was a name that was still well-known within their world even if it was assumed that he was dead. There was simply no way that Robert would just calmly listen to her tell him her suspicions that the monster she knew ten years earlier was completely different.

"Well, I guess I would first say that we are always changing. Every single one of us. Are you the same person you were ten years ago today, Hermione?"

She shook her head. Of course she wasn't! Ten years earlier she was still in the middle of a horcrux hunt, fighting to stay alive. She never knew if that day was going to be her last or if she was going to be forced to watch her best friend get murdered. The constant state of fear that she lived in during those months, and for several years afterwards, most certainly altered who she was as a person. As time progressed and she grew more comfortable with the new world without Voldemort's presence, she was able to relax. Ten years earlier she wouldn't have been so lackadaisical in her own safety that she would've wandered down a dodgy street late at night alone. Complacency made her dangerous.

"Ten years ago, I was working in a publishing house. Just a lowly assistant…" He winked at her, forcing a chuckle out of her mouth. "…but with dreams that I would one day run the entire firm. I was idealistic and naïve. Thought that the only thing I needed to be successful was the willingness to work hard."

He sighed, frustration and a hint of sadness evident on his countenance. She knew that the rest of his story wasn't going to be a happy one. While he never divulged the exact details of the attack that changed him into a werewolf, she knew that it was difficult for him to share any information about his past. He was very private, and she couldn't blame him for that.

"But one night changed the entire trajectory of my life. Changed me into a being I didn't even recognize. No longer was I idealistic. And once I was let go from my job thanks to the laws Umbridge was responsible for enacting, I learned that working hard was only half the battle for success. So, yes, I believe that a person can be one way and life can change them. Doesn't even take ten years. It could happen in ten _seconds_."

His words made a lot of sense. If she stopped to consider all of her loved ones, not a single one of them was the same person they were ten years earlier. War changed them all. Losing those they cared about, violence they witnessed, lives some of them _took_ … it all had a way of altering those affected. Of course it was silly to think that people never changed. She knew that on some level, but imagining a monster changing so noticeably was different.

"What about people who do evil things? Like torture or murder or… well, can a monster ever stop being a monster?"

Robert flinched when she said the M-word. It was one that Hermione tried very hard not to ever use around him. She closed her eyes and sighed, hating herself just a little bit for her poor choice of words. To his credit, her assistant was willing to answer the question.

"Have you ever really known a monster, Hermione?"

"Well, I've met…"

"No, I mean really _known_. Been friends with? Been in a relationship with?"

Her mind immediately jumped to the previous night when Fenrir stood in the middle of her bedroom. It felt odd knowing that he was the first man to be in her private room for a long time. Her cheeks even flushed slightly at the thought. _No_ , she'd definitely never been in a relationship with a so-called monster.

"Most 'monsters' aren't actual monsters, Hermione. I thought you, of all people, would understand that. Especially since you fought so hard for me to get this job."

"No, no! Of course I don't think you're a monster."

She feared she would only dig herself even further and further into a hole if she continued. Knowing her heart was in the right place, Robert took pity on her. Before he continued, he offered her a warm smile to prove he wasn't angry with her. She was grateful. The knots in her stomach began to untwist themselves ever so slightly.

"Unless you really know someone, you can't just automatically assume they're evil or dangerous. You can't actually know what's in a person's heart or their soul unless you know them."

"What if you know about what they did from people who witnessed it?"

He stopped to consider her words a few moments before speaking again. So far, she didn't have much she could really argue with him about. It was correct that the true measure of a person couldn't be determined by a stranger. Had she been unfair to judge the man she didn't even know? Shaking her head, she knew it was a dangerous path to walk down if she even considered believing Fenrir Greyback was nothing but some poor misunderstood, fluffy bunny. She knew firsthand he was dangerous. Just because he had yet to turn it around on her didn't mean he was changed. He wasn't some harmless stray dog wandering the streets looking for someone to look past his matted fur to his sweet disposition underneath.

"I would say that though you shouldn't discount the opinion of someone you trust, you shouldn't just blindly believe everything you hear. Especially not if it's in the newspapers."

His grimace almost made her laugh. She was no stranger to the lies and deceptions that were often printed in the Daily Prophet and other publications. Her name had been dragged through the mud countless times thanks to her feud with Rita Skeeter. Apparently there were some grudges that would never cease no matter how much time passed. Once the conniving reporter registered herself as an animagus with the Ministry, she'd been much less worried about hurting Hermione's feelings. If one of her most recent slanders was to be believed, Hermione kept a basement full of house-elves chained up making clothing she sold to high-end fashion boutiques in America. She just had to roll her eyes when she read the lies. Her style of reporting was becoming more and more like The Quibbler's with each passing year.

"Take werewolves, for example. If you _only_ read the newspapers or all of the dreadful books out there written by ignorant arseholes like Umbridge, you'd believe terrible things about all of us. That we all _like_ to kill, that we _chose_ to be what we are. It's all rubbish."

"Are there some that _do_ like to kill?"

"Are there some wizards that like to kill? Witches? Muggles? You're not a monster because of _what_ you are, but rather _who_ you are. Your choices are what define you."

Hermione was certain she'd heard some variation of those words before, but couldn't remember where exactly. Again, Robert was right. There were monsters everywhere masquerading as fine, upstanding citizens in both the magical and Muggle world. One couldn't be judged based on what they were alone. Her assistant was proof of that. So was Remus Lupin and a dozen or so other werewolves she'd had the pleasure to meet since she started her campaign to get them equal rights under the law. Culturally, she might not have much of a chance to change their perceptions, but at least the laws could protect them.

So if she couldn't just assume that all werewolves were monsters, did that also apply to Fenrir? Her head never hurt so much. She knew it was irrational to try to excuse his past just because of the two recent encounters she was glad to have him nearby. None of that certainly excused the violence he committed in the past. She was grasping at straws trying to find any possible explanation of his complete change.

"You wouldn't believe some of the worst propaganda even the _benevolent_ Ministry has printed about us in the past."

There was a justifiable bitterness to his statement. Sadly, Hermione was afraid she _could_ believe whatever nasty, horrible lies were written about them. Ignorance and cruelty never worked well together and to its detriment, the Ministry of Magic had a long history of hiring both. With people like Umbridge still in existence, she knew that their jobs would never be easy. There were those who didn't want to know the truth.

"Before you were able to hire me, I lived with a few others like me in Scotland. It was safer being far away from civilization." He gestured to the file she'd been working on all morning. "Like that commune, but smaller. At the Full Moon, we'd share what Wolfsbane Potion we were able to buy or steal. Rarely was there enough to go around. Others knew we were there and they'd come to spend the nights with us. Those of us who could drink the potion that month were responsible for keeping those who couldn't away from non-werewolves, those we could hurt."

His candor surprised Hermione greatly. Even after a few years working together in such close quarters, he'd rarely opened up to her about his past and experiences as a werewolf. Some topics were much too personal. Though she was unsure _why_ he was being so honest, she appreciated it. Perhaps it was a sign that he trusted her more than he once did.

"We were able to live and work together for the better part of a year, but somehow our secret got out. Aurors actually came to kick us out of our homes. Said we were a danger being all cooped up in the same place. There was some antiquated law that no more than two werewolves were ever allowed to be in the same location at the same time. To discourage forming dangerous packs, I guess."

"I remember. That was one of the first laws I was able to convince Kingsley to get the Wizengamot to abolish."

A case was brought to her one of her very first days in her department, months before she was able to hire Robert. Two werewolves fell in love and married. Even though lycanthropy was _not_ hereditary, they made the decision to not have any biological children of their own. It seemed unfair to bring innocents into a world where they would be taunted and possibly persecuted simply because of their parents' affliction. The fear that one of them might hurt a child when they were transformed was also not an idle fear. After their discussion to not have children was made, they learned of a young boy locked away in St. Mungo's who was the sole survivor of a vicious werewolf attack on his family. They brought the terrified boy into their home when no one else wanted him.

It didn't take long before someone altered the authorities to an illegal gathering of werewolves. That it was a loving family didn't matter. Hermione hardly slept or ate while she built her case against the cruelty of splitting up a family that for the majority of the month was perfectly normal. Without abolishing the ridiculous law, none of their choices were good. Either their marriage would be sacrificed or they'd have to give up their son and pray someone else would love him. When the law was stricken off the books by the tiniest of majorities in the Wizengamot, she'd never been more elated. The couple she helped sent her Christmas cards every year with pictures of their growing family. Sadly, there were many young werewolves who were abandoned by their families.

"For weeks all of the newspapers reported just the most outrageous lies about us. Said that we were trying to build an army big enough to take over. We were loyal to You-Know-Who and we wanted to bring him back from the dead."

"That's ridiculous."

"Even printed the _biggest_ lie they always tell about werewolves. Claimed that we wanted to attack and bite children to form some sort of super pack that would outnumber the witches and wizards. Just absolute tosh."

The vehemence that he spat out his statement struck a funny note in Hermione. How many times had she heard over the years that Greyback's main goal was to bite children to help him overtake the wizards? She'd even heard Remus Lupin say that exact same thing. Never, until recently anyway, had she even considered the possibility that that might not have been true.

"That's a lie they use a lot?"

"Yes. _Every_ werewolf is in danger of being accused of trying to create their own army of tiny pups. It's ridiculous. No one purposely goes out transformed with the _intention_ of ruining some poor kid's life. That lie just keeps getting repeated over and over again. It makes me furious."

As fascinating as their conversation was, Hermione didn't want to upset him any further. Robert's teeth were clenched and the skin of his neck was turning an alarming shade of puce. While she _knew_ that there were lies told all of the time about werewolves, she didn't realize the extent. Was _everything_ she ever heard about them just a complete fabrication created by a government that wanted to oppress the poor beings?

She wasn't prepared yet to believe such was true about the werewolf whose very name struck fear into the hearts of her fellow witches and wizards. It was all too easy. She'd been present when he attacked members of the Order the night of the battle in the Astronomy Tower that took Albus Dumbledore's life. During the final battle, she _saw_ him attack and mortally wound Lavender Brown. If Dobby hadn't saved her, there was no telling what he might have done to her when Bellatrix was done. No, he was the exception to the rule. Maybe they lied about other werewolves. Not _him_. Even Remus said he was a monster. Of all of the people in the world, he would know.

"Surely there must be _some_ werewolves who do that sort of thing, Robert."

"Not to my knowledge, and you'll forgive me if I remind you that I have a little more experience in this area than you do."

His tone was sharp, but she wasn't offended. It couldn't have been easy for him to open up so much to her after being private for so long. She hoped that she hadn't insulted him or hurt his feelings in any way. That was never her intention.

"I'm sorry. Of course you're right. It may just take some time for me to process everything you taught me just now."

"We all have a lot of internal prejudices about werewolves that we aren't necessarily even aware of. I know I did. Before I was bitten… well, let's just say that I've learned a lot the hard way in the past ten years."

She didn't know what else to say. Without even meaning to, a wall that was built between them began to crack just a tiny smidge. Robert wouldn't likely come out and tell her _everything_ she wanted to know, but she could feel the subtle shifting in their relationship. It was one of the first times he'd ever been so honest and open with her.

"You've never told me much about your past before."

As soon as she made the simple statement, she wished she hadn't. He was embarrassed. Maybe she'd read more into the situation than she should have. She tended to overanalyze. It was awkward of her to point it out. Deciding that that was an excellent time to leave for lunch, Hermione rose quickly to her feet.

"You don't have to rush off on my account."

"Oh, I'm not. I promised I'd meet Harry for lunch."

It was a complete lie, but she didn't care. In her haste to leave before she embarrassed him further, Hermione's sleeve brushed against the stack of parchment on top of her desk sending it tumbling to the floor. Robert, ever the gentleman, didn't hesitate to get up to help her pick it all up. She appreciated that even in the midst of what must have been a tense moment, he was kind.

One of her violet quills crashed to the floor with the parchment. Each of them reached for it at the same time. Robert's hand closed over it first. Holding it out for her to grab, Hermione didn't miss how his nose suddenly flared. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the quill in his hand.

"Hermione, are you _sure_ everything is all right?"

He didn't seem convinced when she assured him that once again she was. Ripping the quill out of his hand, she hoped what she just witnessed was simply another moment she over-analyzed the situation. Could a werewolf tell a quill they held was held by another of their kind? If so, was her assistant able to tell _who_ it was that held it only a few short hours earlier?

It was a relief to get out of their office. Once she was up the stairs to the corridor outside of the Department of Mysteries, she calmed down somewhat. She didn't want anyone to know she'd been in contact with Fenrir Greyback. Not until she knew what he was up to.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Author's Note_** ** _: If you're into this sort of thing, I've created a fancast album for this story. I will add characters as they are deemed important to the plot. The album can be found at Canimallow DOT Tumblr DOT Com SLASH Fancasts._**

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Chapter Five

One of the more bizarre weeks of Hermione's life passed following the vandalism of her home. After she rushed out of her shared office with Robert she had a lot to think about. Much of the hour she took for lunch was spent staring into her teacup trying and failing to make any sense of their discussion about misconceptions and lies that had always been spread in their world about werewolves. Of course she knew that not _all_ of them were homicidal monsters, but she couldn't deny that Fenrir Greyback was dangerous. Remus Lupin's entire life was proof of that. So was Bill Weasley's face.

If she discovered that Greyback had her under some sort of confusion or befuddlement spell, she wouldn't be surprised. At least that made some sort of logical sense. Nothing he'd done since he saved her from the Muggle had. It was as if he was a completely different person than he used to be. That wasn't possible, was it? Could he be an imposter that just happened to look and sound a lot like him? Was he really the unknown less-evil twin of the actual Greyback? Films and novels were often full of surprise twins no one expected or even wanted. Certainly that explanation made more sense that what was happening. But whatever the truth was, her curiosity kept her from telling anyone else about him. She wanted to wait to see what happened next before she let anyone in on her secret.

They settled into an odd sort of routine. She pretended she didn't know he was there and he continued to watch her from the shadows. Each time she returned to her home for the night she made certain that all of the Muggle-expelling wards he insisted on were reapplied. When she left her house for the Ministry each morning she strengthened them again. Except, of course, on the day that Margaret was expected to drop in to tidy up. She wasn't willing to give in to him on that point. In the end it didn't matter. The house was left unprotected but no dangerous criminals broke down her door again. Maybe they never would. Hadn't they done enough damage the first time to get their point across?

Hermione couldn't ignore the uneasy feeling that the Muggle who attacked her that night was far from done. As much as she hated to admit that he might be right, she couldn't deny that having the extra protection around her home helped her sleep better. If part of that comfort came from knowing all she had to do was scream to have Fenrir Greyback come running to her rescue again, she didn't dwell much on it. Crime had gotten worse in London. She'd read it all over the Muggle newspapers. A large, more concentrated population was always in danger of growing unwieldy and predatory. Her city was hardly alone in that. The world in general seemed to grow more hostile with each passing year. She'd read about criminals like the Muggle. They were ruthless, _relentless_. Remembering the feel of his hand on her arse made her sick to her stomach. What would've happened if Fenrir hadn't been watching?

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

Robert's concerned question broke through her worsening thoughts. Thankful for the distraction, she looked across her desk at her assistant and smiled. Her assurance that she was all right and only lost in thought about what she was researching did not convince the perceptive man. At least he didn't badger her when he didn't believe her like all of the other people in her life tended to do. Since the incident with the violet quill days earlier, Robert had something on his mind that he wasn't willing to share. She didn't want to lie to him if he asked something she couldn't answer, but she also didn't think she could confide in him. Afraid he was about to pluck up the necessary courage, Hermione chose to try to steer the conversation away into another direction.

"It's Friday. Do you have any plans with the lovely Miss Desford this evening?"

His cheeks flushed at the mere mention of the pretty witch from the Improper Use of Magic office. She smiled. Did he know how charming and adorable he was?

"No, I'm afraid not. It's a Full Moon tonight. I won't be up for much of anything all weekend."

Hermione was surprised to hear it was the night of the Full Moon. Usually she was good to remember it. Having a werewolf in her office was a good reminder most months. Had her mind been so preoccupied that she hadn't been paying attention? She decided that of course she'd been too distracted. It had been a very strange week after all.

"Where do you go during Full Moons?"

The moment the question came out of her mouth she wished she hadn't said anything. What possessed her to ask? Robert was always very private and sensitive when it came to his condition. She was all out of sorts.

"I'm sorry, Robert. I shouldn't have asked. You don't have to tell me."

"No, Hermione, it's all right. I've been thinking lately that maybe I've been _too_ private. It's not my fault what happened to me. What do I have to be ashamed of?"

She was proud of him for being so bold. It couldn't have been easy in an unforgiving society like theirs. While she wasn't sure what the sudden change in him was about, she was glad to see a little fire in him. Part of what they were working so hard for in their dingy, cramped office was to make their world more friendly and welcoming of others like him. How could they even hope for that to be a reality if he kept hiding too?

"I have a place in Scotland I go each month. It's quiet and secluded. Even with Wolfsbane Potion I feel more comfortable staying as far away from people as I can."

"Are you alone there?"

There was sadness behind his smile.

"No, I'm afraid I'm not. There are several just like me who spend the Full Moon there. We've had to learn to rely on each other."

"Is it like a pack?"

Robert cleared his throat.

"Sort of, but not exactly. It's hard to explain. It's easier when we're together, but we're not animals, Hermione. We're still people."

She hoped she hadn't offended him by asking the question about the pack, but she couldn't deny she was fascinated. There were few sources to get real information about werewolves outside of asking one impertinent questions. And as those sources were generally wrong and incredibly biased, there wasn't much factual to learn. She'd read many terrible books describing werewolves as little more than animals capable of feeling only base desires and urges. Nothing was ever mentioned about their humanity even though that's exactly what they were the vast majority of the time. If she wasn't afraid to insult her assistant, she would've loved to sit down with him and ask all of the questions she had swirling around her head with no answers.

"No, I'm sorry. Of course you're not animals. I didn't mean to imply that you were."

"We were strangers, but we needed each other. Especially after the end of the last war. We've become close. Maybe closer than friends because we rely on each other so much, but no, it's not like a wolf pack."

There was a note of bitterness in his tone that he didn't even try to disguise. Hermione could only imagine what sort of discrimination he'd faced since the night he was bitten. Had there been people who hadn't worried about offending him in the past who asked him ghastly questions that were none of their business and hurtful? Even though they'd been coworkers and friends from quite some time, Hermione tried to remain respectful of his barriers. Just as he never asked her private questions about her health, she never said anything about his affliction. Was the reemergence of Fenrir Greyback in her life to blame for her increased curiosity and boldness?

"Hermione, look here." Robert held his hands up for her to see. "What do you see?"

She feared he was asking her a trick question. When she didn't immediately answer, he leaned across the desk to put his hands just centimeters from her face. As he turned them over and back several times, she still didn't know what he was expecting her to see. There was nothing strange or out of the ordinary about his hands. Perhaps his nails were _too_ clean indicating he was a little bit more concerned about cleanliness and germs than was healthy, but even they were trimmed neatly and evenly. Was she supposed to see something odd about them?

"I just see your hands, Robert. What is the point you're trying to make?"

"Yes, _just_ hands. Regular, normal human hands. Do you see any claws?"

"Of course not."

"No, you don't. Because I'm a man. What about in my mouth? What do you see?"

He opened his mouth wide to show two rows of perfectly straight white teeth that even her dentist parents would've been proud of. Sensing what he wanted her to say, she bit back a sigh of frustration and replied.

"Just normal, _human_ teeth."

"Exactly. No fangs yet. No sharp canines. Because with the exception of the few hours a month the Full Moon is in the sky, I'm just a man. There are a number of misconceptions out there about werewolves that far too many believe to be fact."

A quiet alarm on Robert's watch sounded before he could continue. Part of Hermione was relieved that he had to leave to keep her from embarrassing herself further, but mostly she wanted to know everything. What else did she assume was true about werewolves that was completely false?

"If you'll excuse me, I must make my way to Scotland. Night falls so much earlier this time of year."

As he tidied the parchment on his desk in preparation to leave for the weekend, some of his usual shyness and reticence to speak about his condition returned. It was unlike him to be so honest. She didn't wish for it to remain awkward between them over the coming few days. When he pulled his cloak over his shoulders and started for the door, Hermione stood and gently grasped his forearm to get him to stop. Though he fought it at first, she didn't speak until his deep green eyes stared into hers.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Robert. That's the last thing I'd ever want."

His heavy, defeated sigh threaten to break her heart. She'd never been terribly good with people. Friendships were hard to make and relationships impossible to keep. Most people she knew didn't like her much for a variety of valid reasons. Whenever she was in danger of alienating another loved one, she feared for the day when she would have no one left in her life. It always felt like a terrifying and real possibility.

"I know that, Hermione, but you really should be more careful. Sometimes you ask too many questions. It's fine if you do it to me because I know you don't mean to be insulting…"

"Of course I don't!"

"You must be _very_ careful around other werewolves, Hermione. Especially ones you don't know very well."

There was another warning in his tone that was left unspoken. Or perhaps her guilty conscience was just hearing something that wasn't really there. Was Robert warning her to be careful around other werewolves because he knew she had a mostly silent shadow following her around? Did he know about Greyback still being alive? He'd held the violet quill that he'd bought for her. He might not have said anything, but she didn't miss how his nostrils flared. Did he know that the feared murderer and former follower of Lord Voldemort himself had been close enough to leave his scent on her quill?

Robert didn't say anything else before he gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and left the office for the weekend. Being left alone with a lot on her mind kept Hermione from being very productive for the rest of the work day. When the clock struck five, she left the Ministry like a normal person.

It felt strange to realize _he_ wasn't waiting for her outside of the Ministry. When she arrived in the alley a short distance from her heavily warded home, she found his absence almost sad. Only a week had gone by since he flew out of the darkness to rescue her from a dangerous situation. How did she get used to his presence in such a short period of time?

As darkness fell and she smuggled into her warm bed with Crookshanks curled up next to her, she couldn't help but think about Fenrir. Where was he? Did he have place like Robert where he could pass the night safely and away from others he might harm? She almost laughed at that last thought. When had Fenrir Greyback ever worried about keeping away from innocent people he might harm during his transformations? A long line of bodies and ruined lives stretched back to the werewolf. He didn't deserve to have someone worrying about his safety.

* * *

Except it seemed that no matter how hard she tried _not_ to think of him, she couldn't help it. A sleepless night passed as she replayed every single interaction they had in the previous week in her head. Then she thought about all of the times in the past she'd been afraid of him and at his mercy. How could she continue to think and worry about him after she remembered the horrible promises he made to her at Malfoy Manor? How could she calmly allow him to remain near her without raising any alarms when she thought about his innocent victims?

There was more to what was going on than she knew. Some sort of mystery or misunderstanding. Nothing else made any sense. Or she might have been going insane. That was always a possibility whether she wanted to recognize it as one or not. How else could she explain her willingness to forget all of his victims, including the high number of innocent children? Assuming, of course, that that hadn't all been a lie. Robert said werewolves were often accused of wishing to build an army of children and he'd never heard of that being true. Hermione knew only of Remus Lupin's attack as a child for certain. There'd been rumors of the poor Montgomery boy being another one of his victims, but that hadn't been proven. Greyback was hardly the only werewolf Voldemort used for his nefarious purposes.

By Monday morning on her way to the Ministry, he still hadn't returned. Had the transformation gone badly? Was he still recovering? Robert wasn't usually himself for the few days after the Full Moon. Having the entire weekend to rest made a big difference. The tension from their Friday discussion was gone when her assistant entered the office. There were no more impertinent questions from Hermione no matter how much she wanted to ask them. The day passed slowly, however, as she couldn't stop thinking about Fenrir.

"Don't work too late, Hermione. All of this will keep until the morning."

It was a frequent statement she heard from her assistant on his way out the door many evenings. He was absolutely correct. Very little of what they did had hard deadlines. Securing an audience with the Minister for Magic or any of the other department heads was difficult to accomplish on short notice. They had to ensure their appointment was on their schedule weeks, sometimes even _months_ , in advance. There was always plenty of time to prepare. Truthfully, she usually only worked as hard and long as she did because she didn't have anything better to do. She _liked_ working. Perhaps she did too much of it, but if she was happy, what did it matter? She wasn't hurting anyone.

Shortly after Robert made his excuses to go home, Hermione decided to call it a night too. The longer she remained at work, the further her mind travelled. Most of the Ministry's workers had already gone home as she made her way to the employee exit in the Atrium. Some days she had to push away the jealousy that welled up inside of her when she thought of how eager so many of her coworkers were to get home to their loved ones. It was all too easy to be envious of what she didn't have.

One step outside into the freezing night air and she knew she wasn't alone. The familiar sensation of being watched from the shadows was a welcome distraction from her depressing thoughts of her own loneliness. She didn't need to look behind her to know she was being followed. At a safe distance away from the Ministry's Anti-Apparition wards, she thought about her intended destination and spun in place.

Her stop before heading home took a bit longer than she planned. Evidently she wasn't the only person in London leaving work with no desire to cook. While she waited in the front of the Muggle restaurant for her takeaway order, she wondered where her shadow had gone. Was he frustrated with her that she went somewhere he couldn't follow? Was he worried that she was getting herself into trouble he couldn't save her from? A chuckle exploded out of her at the thought before she could stop it. In what topsy-turvy universe could she possibly live in that it was even a possibility that Fenrir Greyback worried about her safety? It was all preposterous. Soon she would learn the real reason for his surveillance from the shadows and she highly doubted it was anything positive. She was being foolish. A sane person would've reported him the moment she saw him again. Nothing about her behavior had been the least bit sane from the very beginning.

There was plenty of time to think as her food was prepared. For the first several minutes she kept turning towards the door expecting to see Greyback on the pavement. He'd been able to follow her to Diagon Alley after all. She'd verified and reverified that she didn't have any tracking spells on her or any of her possessions. Magic always left a trace. She found nothing. The more she considered the facts, the more she decided it was just dumb luck he was able to find her in Diagon Alley. Maybe when he realized she didn't immediately Apparate home, he just picked a random Wizarding district. It was possible he was tracking her by her scent, a possibility she didn't like to think much about. He probably just picked up her scent outside of the Leaky Cauldron and followed her to the stationary shop. The longer she stayed in the restaurant without him suddenly appearing, the more that theory made sense.

Her stomach angrily protested its emptiness when the bag containing her meal for the evening was finally handed over. Hermione found a dark corner behind the restaurant to Disapparate to her corner of the city. Thanks to the horrible Muggle she was on guard for the first time since Voldemort was finally defeated. Careful to pay close attention to her surroundings as she approached her home in the dark, she didn't relax until she was back inside her home with the damned wards reapplied. Crookshanks greeted her with a loud meow from his perch on the kitchen table.

"Hello, dear. Did you have a pleasant day at the office?"

It was a private joke she played with her cat that she was sure would've appeared quite sad and pathetic to an outsider. Crookshanks likely had his own thoughts about her frequently pretending he was more than just a cat, but thankfully, he couldn't speak beyond growls and annoyed mewling. Hermione scratched him behind the ears once then returned to the important business of dinner.

A shadow in her back garden caught her eye. Startled at first, she realized that it was just Fenrir leaning back against her gate. It was the closest he'd gotten to her house since the night it was vandalized. Lingering in her neighbor's garden was no longer enough for the werewolf. She wasn't sure it was wise to get used to the odd sense of comfort knowing he was out there brought her. Pulling two plates from the cupboard, she divided the double order of food she'd made at the restaurant between them. She poured two glasses of her favorite red wine.

He didn't say anything when she opened the back door. No greeting or even acknowledgment that he knew she was there. Nor did she. Hermione set one of the plates and one of the glasses on the small table she liked to use for breakfast when the weather was nice. She was back inside the warm house with the door locked before he even moved towards the kind gesture. The night was cold. It was the least she could do.

* * *

A clean plate and glass were the only clues that there had been a werewolf in her back garden the next morning. Hermione wasn't sure what to expect when she pulled open the back door to let Crookshanks out after his breakfast. If he was still there, would she say something to him? Or would she continue to pretend as if he didn't exist until he told her himself?

None of her questions had any answers as she left her home for the Ministry. Only more questions formed. It was enough to drive a person completely mad. Maybe all of the warnings she'd received over the years about working too much were finally coming to pass. She'd worked too hard and too much for far too long. Kingsley kept pleading with her to take a long holiday. The more confused she grew with her current situation, the more appealing that sounded.

If she took a holiday from work, where would she go? She knew lots of people who liked to run from the cold weather by traveling to places with a warmer climate, but she rather liked the cold. It seemed a shame to leave. A quiet cottage in the country could always be found even if the thought of spending days on end entirely by herself sounded like torture. Secluded cottages were only good for steamy, romantic trips for two. With no hope of a companion, hiding away sounded more depressing than relaxing. And would her shadow follow her there too? It was awkward enough to know he was in the back garden.

"Hermione? _Hermione_?"

Robert's voice broke her out of her thoughts for yet another time that day. Thanks to the enigmatic Fenrir Greyback, she'd had trouble focusing on anything she was doing. Her assistant's amused smirk embarrassed her.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Excuse me, what?"

"Are you lost in thought about business or pleasure?"

It was an innocent tease, but Hermione could feel her cheeks flush as she absorbed what he was asking. She certainly was _not_ thinking about business and thinking about Greyback in any way was hardly pleasurable. He was simply a mystery. And she hated how her traitorous thoughts went down a dangerous path when mention was made of pleasure. Flashes of the werewolf in varying degrees of undress assaulted her mind without warning. She hadn't missed that there was something attractive about the man when he wasn't trying to murder or violate everyone in his path. His smile when he was standing in her kitchen repairing all of her broken dishes caught her off-guard. Over a few seconds later, she almost didn't believe it was real. Were there other circumstances where he might find it acceptable to smile again?

"I was just thinking about the Larsen case from last week and whether or not all of the forms were filled out correctly."

"Oh, of course, but I'm sure you did just fine."

His cheeky grin made it clear he thought she was lying. To his credit, he didn't call her out on it. Just simply asked her the question he'd been trying to ask when her mind was elsewhere. She gave him an answer, wishing she could focus on work. No matter what she tried to do for the rest of the day, Hermione's mind continued to wander. Nothing she worked on was finished or even close. All she could think about was the frustrating werewolf and how his mere presence was messing up her well-ordered life.

A knock on the doorframe of their office startled Hermione out of another daydream where she was brave enough to approach Greyback to ask him exactly what he was doing. Embarrassed once again, she looked up to see Miss Nanette Desford from the Improper Use of Magic Office standing in the doorway smiling at a flustered Robert. He began shifting his parchment around his desk for something to keep his hands occupied. It wasn't difficult to see what it was about Robert that the witch found attractive. He was positively endearing.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, but Robert, you said you would meet me in the Atrium at half-past five. It's a quarter to six now."

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry, Nanette. I was caught up."

"I suspected as much."

The pretty witch smiled again. Neither of them seemed to even notice Hermione was still sitting there. Deciding that there was no way that she was going to get anything done that day and that the two of them might appreciate a few minutes alone, she stood up quickly.

"I think I will call it a night. See you in the morning, Robert. Not _too_ early, of course."

The deepening blush to his cheeks made both women giggle. Hermione was out of the door faster than her mortified assistant could splutter out a single word in response. It was no more than he deserved, she decided, for teasing her earlier about being lost in thought.

One of Hermione's least attractive personality traits and one she tried very hard to control was her envious nature. Just as she often found herself staring at the excited Ministry officials on their way home to spend their evening with their loved ones, she felt the familiar swirl of jealousy in her gut when she thought about Robert and Miss Desford. New relationships were fun. The first few weeks, especially the first few nights, were intoxicating. It was so easy to get lost in that excitement. She could hardly remember what it felt like.

As she climbed the stairs to the lowest level the lift actually serviced, she tried to push away the feelings of envy that threatened to choke her. Of all of the people in the world that she knew and loved, Robert deserved to find happiness more than any of them. For too many years he'd been forced to live on the sidelines while everyone else around him had normal relationships and fell in love. Conditions were getting better for werewolves, but they still had a long, hard road. There was still so much hatred and prejudice in their society that she wasn't sure they would ever be finished.

"Hermione! Hold the lift."

She'd been so lost in her self-chastising thoughts that she hadn't realized there was someone else behind her in the corridor. Passing the entrance to the Department of Mysteries from the general direction of the courtrooms was her ex-boyfriend, Auror Iain Proudfoot. She held in her frustrated groan. What dreadful timing he had! When she was herself and not wallowing in self-pity, she usually could see him from a distance. Avoiding him had been the only thing keeping her from doing something foolish like throwing herself at the wizard. Theirs had been a passion that never really waned. Only their conflicting schedules and the realization that two workaholics could never have a successful future ended what they had. Before she could talk herself into being terribly rude and forcing the door to the lift closed in his face, his long legs carried him inside the confined space.

"Hello, Iain. It's been a while."

"Yes, it has been. One might think you were avoiding me."

He said it with a wink that only reminded her of _other_ times he liked to wink. It wasn't fair that during such a confusing point in her life she was forced to be alone with a man she couldn't think straight around. Iain Proudfoot was one of the most respected Aurors in the department. How many times had she been forced to listen to Harry drone on and on about how wonderful he was? It was Harry's hope that she would get back together with one of his favorite coworkers. Ten years older than she, he had enough life experience and maturity that she felt like they were on an equal playing field. She'd always struggled with dating men her own age. Most of them were too immature and too boring. Ron was an exception to the too boring part, at least. When she was with Iain, she felt like an equal partner. It was an experience that she didn't have much of. Certainly not in the romantic sense.

"I have been working a lot. _Not_ avoiding you."

"I'm not sure I believe that."

Another devilish grin. They used to have a lot of fun together. Why had she been avoiding him again? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Jealousy and loneliness were a terrible combination, especially if an ex was nearby. If she wasn't careful, she was going to do something she'd come to regret.

"You could always make it up to me by letting me buy you a drink at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Okay."

Hermione agreed without thinking. The word just fell out. But, once she said it, she found she didn't regret it. All she had to look forward to that evening was another night alone with her cat. She was too young to settle into that depressing routine forever. Besides, she and Iain were both adults. It was entirely possible that they could keep their interactions on a purely platonic level.

Two glasses of wine and countless laughs later, she wasn't so sure. It was easy to remember what it was about Iain that she fell in love with years ago. A Gryffindor of the worst kind, he was brave, courageous, noble, and all of the other traits that were exemplified in their shared House. If he was a bit stubborn and arrogant and perhaps a tiny bit self-righteous, well, that was no more than any of the rest of the Gryffindors, including herself, could say. He could make her laugh with no effort. It was a trait of his that she cherished most.

"We shouldn't have waited this long to do this, Hermione. I've missed you."

For the first time in over a week when the Muggle attacked her in the dark, she was able to think about something other than the werewolf. Unsure if it was wise to ignore her concerns about Greyback, even for the short-term, she allowed herself to slip back three years in time to when life seemed a little bit simpler.

"Do you ever think about getting back together?"

"Iain, I don't think…"

He gently pushed a strand of hair behind her ear as he spoke. Staring into his eyes, she felt the wine going straight to her head. Had she remembered to eat lunch? She couldn't be sure. The day passed in a blur. Iain leaned closer. If he kissed her, she wasn't sure if she was going to push him away or offer him more.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. A feeling of being watched fell over her again. Before Iain's lips could press against hers, Hermione turned her head to the corner of the room she felt his presence. Sitting at a table far from the fireplace in near darkness was a scowling Fenrir Greyback. If he'd looked at her the way he was at any other time in their acquaintance, she would've been very afraid. Instead, seeing how intensely he stared at her with an expression of anger, she felt excited.

Laying her hand gently on Iain's thigh and turning her face back towards her ex, she could've sworn she heard a soft growl.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's Note_** ** _: FYI, this is likely to be my last update to any of my stories for the rest of the year. I'll be taking a sabbatical from writing as I deal with my personal and professional life. Writing is fun, but it takes a whole lot of energy that I don't personally have at the moment. I have every intention of finishing my stories; just not in the next few months. Thank you for your patience and understanding. Might I suggest spending the time between now and my next update showering all of the other writers you love and read with tons of praise and encouragement in their reviews? You never know when your kind message is exactly what they need to hear to keep on pushing through. Happy writers mean more stories for you to read! It's a Win-Win!_**

* * *

Chapter Six

It could've been all inside Hermione's head. Maybe she just _wanted_ to hear a growl. When was the last time she made a man jealous? Too long ago to remember. She wasn't exactly the type to inspire such an emotion. Rarely had two men been interested in her at the same time. Her role in ending the war might've made her famous, but it didn't change the fact that she annoyed more than she enticed. Was it too much to hope that part of the reason why Fenrir Greyback watched her from the shadows was because he appreciated her on some level as a woman?

She couldn't believe she was actually hoping the werewolf was attracted to her. What was she thinking? She must've completely lost her mind. Loneliness and too much wine was responsible for those terrible thoughts. When she was sober and back to thinking clearly, she would feel like a fool.

The feel of Iain's lips on the outside of her ear brought back a number of enjoyable memories, temporarily pushing thoughts about the werewolf out of her mind. There wasn't much else she could focus on when she thought about the _amusing_ times she used to have with her ex. Life could be disappointing when it didn't go as one hoped it would. They had explosive chemistry, but lacked far too much outside of it to make for a successful long-term relationship. She knew allowing Iain to follow her down that old, familiar path wouldn't end in happiness. With the thoughts swirling through her mind of what she could expect if she ignored the warning bells, she didn't care if there wasn't a future.

"I've missed you so much, Hermione. Tell me you feel the same way."

She didn't. Not really. If she allowed logic to press through the haze of alcohol and poor judgment, she knew without question that she didn't miss Iain. Missed feeling desirable and wanted? Yes. Missed having a warm body next to her in bed? Of course. Missed having someone she trusted and cared about she could talk to about whatever she was thinking or worried about? More than anything. Missed having Iain back in her life again? Not at all. She only missed the memories and how they once hoped they could be something more than just Sundays spent in bed.

"I think we've had too much to drink, Iain."

Someone had to be the rational adult. Considering her thoughts and actions had been anything _but_ in recent days, Hermione was surprised to be the one to gently push the handsome auror away. Loneliness was never an acceptable reason to hop into bed with another person and if she allowed him to keep whispering in her ear all of the words she longed for him to say three years earlier, that was exactly where they were headed.

"And here I was thinking we hadn't had _enough_ to drink."

Hermione rolled her eyes with a snort at his response. Despite knowing it was another in a long line of poor choices, she accepted another glass from the attentive wizard behind the bar. A little space between the exes helped cool the area considerably. She was going to have to be careful keeping Iain away. Clearly she couldn't be trusted around him.

"You've known exactly where to find me for three years, Proudfoot. You couldn't have missed me _that_ much."

"You don't believe me?"

She smiled as she shook her head. Feigning injured pride, Iain sighed and dramatically allowed his shoulders to fall. She smiled again. He'd always been able to make her laugh. It was a quality about him she once loved. Laughter could help soothe a lot of hurts, but it wasn't a cure for everything. That was a lesson they'd both learned the hard way.

While Iain ordered himself another drink, Hermione took the opportunity to look back to the corner where she'd seen her shadow. Fenrir still continued to watch her, but there was no scowl on his face. No expression other than mild boredom at all. Had she only seen what she _wanted_ to see? No one else in the Leaky Cauldron heard a growl. That was something that wouldn't have gone unnoticed even in the wizarding world. It would've called too much attention to the werewolf most believed to be dead. Why would she convince herself that she'd heard a growl? Did she _want_ him to be jealous of the fact she was there with another man?

"I know that look. It means your brain is working too hard."

Iain's return startled her out of her thoughts. She could be very easy to read at time, especially when she allowed her mind to wander. Catching Fenrir's disinterested eye one more time and still seeing not even the tiniest flicker of jealousy, she turned her full attention back to the auror. Though it was difficult, she tried to push away the disappointment. How unreasonable and illogical could she be around the werewolf? If he knew what she was thinking, he would laugh in her face. Imagining the deep, raspy laugh she heard ten years earlier in Malfoy Manor sent unpleasant chills up and down her spine. Somehow she's been able to separate the wretched, homicidal Greyback with the curious, protective Fenrir. She was asking for trouble if she continued to forget who he actually was.

"I _always_ think too much, Iain. Have you forgotten?"

"No, you don't _always_ think too much. I can think of plenty of times you didn't do much thinking at all."

The flirty wiggle of his eyebrows made her laugh again. She didn't think it was wise to let their thoughts travel back to those days in the past when they both were able to turn off their overactive minds to just _feel_. There was a reason why she tried to avoid Iain when she saw him around the Ministry. He could be dangerous, a waste of her time. A _fun_ waste of her time, but a waste nonetheless. She started to regret letting him talk her into going out for drinks. It was a bad idea. Lately she seemed to be full of those.

"Seriously, Hermione, what is it?"

"Nothing you need be concerned about. I was just thinking about a particularly difficult case I've been working on."

"Bollocks. If it _was_ about work, you would still be sitting at your desk right now, _not_ rushing out of the Ministry at a normal time."

She hated that he was right. Most people who didn't know her very well would just take her explanation as the truth and never doubt it. Work filled a hole in her life, so they would just assume that that was all she ever thought about. Some days they were right.

"And I suppose you think you know everything there is to know about me?"

"Not at all. You are a very mysterious witch, love. I don't know you half as well as I wish I did."

When he didn't couple his remark with a cheeky wink or another waggle of his eyebrows, she realized he was being completely sincere. The temperature in the room rose and she desired little else than to run out the front door and never look back. Iain was comfortable, _safe_ , but Iain was not her future. She didn't want to lead him on. That wouldn't be fair to either of them. Just because she was lonely and tipsy didn't mean she could be so cruel. As she sipped at her third glass of wine, she tried to think of something plausible to tell Iain besides the truth. At least some _version_ of the truth would keep him satisfied. He could always tell when she lied. It was a valuable skill in his chosen career.

"You must know a lot about security wards, Iain. Aurors must, right?"

"I do know a lot. Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious to know if there's some way to set up a Muggle-repelling ward, _but_ allowed certain Muggles through without dismantling it completely. I'm sure I could find the answer myself if I did some research, but I haven't found the time with all I'm working on."

Iain didn't rush to answer her question. As she continued to ramble she noticed his green eyes narrow ever so slightly. Sometimes being around a competent auror was frustrating. Just like trying to have a friendly conversation with someone after learning they were a psychiatrist by trade, she often felt as if they were analyzing her words and body language. Her ex knew her better than most even if that didn't mean much considering how private she tried to be. It also didn't help remembering him telling her years earlier that she talked too much when she was trying to hide something. Why couldn't he be unobservant like all of the other men had been in her life?

"That's a fascinating question, love. May I ask _why_ you're suddenly so interested?"

"Oh, it's not a _sudden_ interest at all. There have been some break-ins in houses near mine in recent weeks. I'd like to repel all Muggles, but Margaret still pops in at least once a week. Do you remember Margaret?"

An amused grin appeared on his face. Hermione instantly felt nervous. What was it about what she said that made him want to laugh? She sipped nervously at her wine, hoping she was't being as obvious as she was afraid she was.

"Do I remember Margaret? Of course I do. She _adored_ me. Told me repeatedly to make an honest woman out of you."

His wink brought another flush to her cheeks. What a terrible mistake that would've been. Even if Iain hinted a few times before the end of their romance that he was interested in making a more permanent commitment, Hermione knew it would've been a disaster. They both worked too much and despite that, she knew he was ready to start a family. One of them would have to make serious sacrifices in their career to accommodate children and she knew without a doubt that _she_ would be the one expected to do so. Years of resentment and regret stretched ahead of them if they were ever foolish enough to try. She regretted _yet again_ accepting his invitation for drinks.

"Yes, well, I suppose I'll need to make some time to do my own research on wards."

Hermione knocked back the rest of her wine in a single swallow. As she set her glass on top of their table, Iain placed a gentle hand on her forearm. There was no mockery or teasing left on his countenance. The mood between them shifted to being serious, almost tense.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'll stop. If you're in some sort of danger…"

"I'm _not_. I can take care of myself perfectly well, thank you."

"I never said you couldn't. I _know_ you can. You don't need anyone."

She couldn't miss the bitterness in his tone even if it was slight and he tried to hide it. Some day he would find a witch who needed him and Iain would fall deeply in love and hopefully, figure out how to live happily ever after. He was the sort of man who needed to be needed. It was yet another reason they were doomed to failure.

"But if you're worried that your house might be in danger, I can help you set new wards. I'm sure there's one that'll do what you want. I'll ask Savage. He's an expert. He's forgotten more than I've ever learned about wards."

"Thank you, Iain."

Realizing his hand was still on her arm, he gently squeezed it, releasing it a heartbeat later. She appreciated his help even though it bothered her that she had to keep the full truth from him. If Iain knew about the Muggle attacking her in the street and then vandalizing her house, he wouldn't rest until the perpetrator was brought to justice. She couldn't bear the scrutiny or the imposition in her everyday life even if she appreciated his concern. And if he were to find out that Fenrir Greyback was still alive and faithfully following her around? She didn't even want to consider what those consequences would be like.

"And you'll have to forgive me for overstepping, but I'm going to blame my many years of being an auror. I'd feel much more comfortable if you allowed me to come check on your wards right now. Just so I can see if you'll be safe until I can talk to Savage."

"That's not necessary, Iain."

"Of course it's not, but indulge me, please?"

Feeling as if she was some sort of damsel in distress incapable of taking care of herself had always been a sore spot for Hermione. Perhaps it was a side-effect of the instances in her adolescence when she'd been completely powerless to keep herself from harm. With the ending of the war and the constant threat of Voldemort or his Death Eaters attacking and killing her over, she'd gotten used to taking complete care of herself. Allowing someone else in, even in a superficial way as Iain suggested, was harder than it should've been. Her pride had taken a serious hit when she was targeted by the Muggle and unable to save herself.

With a heavy sigh she agreed that he could come check the security wards she'd placed on her home. She decided that it couldn't hurt having another opinion and as much as she tried to convince herself that it didn't, she still felt unnerved and even a little frightened that her home had been breached. And of course she knew how tenacious her ex could be. Iain wouldn't rest comfortably until he could see for himself that she was protected. He was the sort that would randomly show up to check if she didn't offer him an invitation. The chances of him stumbling upon the disturbing fact that Fenrir was still alive and keeping a close watch on her were greater if she didn't know he was coming. Better to get it over with while she still had the illusion of control.

They didn't linger long in the popular tavern once she agreed. Each of them finished their drinks quickly. Iain placed a few galleons on the table to pay the tab. She would've protested him buying if she'd thought it would do any good. Already she knew she'd given him the wrong impression. Alcohol could only be blamed for a small part of her behavior. Mostly she had to admit that it felt good to be desired and wanted again. And if she continued to be honest with herself, she was desperate to know her shadow's reaction to watching her with another man. It was alarming to recognize the seed of disappointment settling in her stomach that Fenrir didn't even seem to care.

She wanted to know his motivations, his reasons for following her around and keeping watch outside of her home, but she was scared to ask. What if she didn't like the answer? Remaining in ignorance for the immediate future seemed to be her best choice. Asking the dangerous man outright could have very serious repercussions she might not be prepared to handle. For one of the first times in her life, Hermione wasn't desperate to seek out the answer. Upsetting the delicate balance that existed between them was best pushed out into the future for another day. Was it wrong to like the comforting feeling of knowing he was watching? Besides, she knew as sure as she knew how to take her next breath that he would never harm her again. How she knew that wasn't important. She just did.

Iain Apparated to the same dark alley she used. Three years might've passed since he'd last been to her home, but he hadn't forgotten how to get there. The cold night air and the squeezing sensation of her own Apparition reminded Hermione how much she'd had to drink. As her legs wobbled and she threatened to tumble over, her ex was there to catch her before she fell. Feeling his gentle touch on her body again tempted her to ignore all of her earlier reservations about giving him the wrong idea. It had been so long and she wasn't looking forward to slipping between her cold sheets alone.

"Do you know which of your neighbors were burgled?"

When it came to a potential investigation, Iain was all business. Once he was satisfied that she wouldn't fall on her face, his entire demeanor changed to how he acted when he was working. The sudden shift of his personality pushed the last of the lingering thoughts of inviting the wizard inside for another drink out of her head. She was being foolish, playing with fire and the explosive temper of another stubborn, proud Gryffindor.

"No, not personally. A couple of houses one street over. Margaret said she saw some suspicious men wandering around after dark."

"Did she call the Muggle police?"

"They weren't helpful. Just thought she was a paranoid, old woman."

The lies were easier to tell the more comfortable she became of the deception. She wanted another opinion about the safety of her home from someone she knew she could trust with her life without having to worry about them knowing the full truth of the Muggle's attack. Iain would do something foolish like insist he stay in her home until her attacker was caught or maybe even drag her back to his Diagon Alley flat. What would happen to her shadow in either of those cases?  
"I have a few Muggle contacts I could call on. There's a chief inspector I know who's a squib."

"I don't think that's necessary. Margaret may have been confused, but I want to make sure my wards are effective."

As soon as they reached her front door, Hermione felt Fenrir watching them. She turned her head slowly in his direction to confirm his presence without drawing Iain's attention. A bloody and dangerous duel in the middle of her street was the last thing she wanted. Iain, despite his many years of experience as an auror, could be the 'curse first, ask questions second' type if he felt cornered.

"If you weren't truly worried about someone breaking into your house, Hermione, why did you go to such drastic lengths to keep it protected?"

Iain's chuckle as he tested her home's defenses was a bit more patronizing than she cared for. All she'd done was add the Muggle-repelling ward that _he'd_ been so insistent she add. There might have been some other protective spells she put on the house when she first bought it, but nothing strange or out of the ordinary. As she'd come to realize almost to her detriment, in the absence of Voldemort and his murderous Death Eaters, she'd grown too complacent, too self-assured. Muggles didn't frighten her so there had been no reason to guard against them.

"I haven't seen some of these spells in _years_. Not since I was in auror training. Did you stumble upon them in one of your dusty, old books?"

Usually his laughter was infectious. Many times in their shared past he'd gotten her to laugh just by laughing himself. But she didn't feel like laughing that night. Lifting her own wand, she checked the defenses herself. All magic carried a trace signature of the one who cast the spell. While it was very difficult to positively identify another's signature without knowing them on a highly personal level, it was very easy for a witch or wizard to recognize their own signature. And she could tell immediately that her home was covered in complex spells that she did not cast. Iain didn't notice anything disturbing about her protections as his continued laughter attested.

"I think I like the one requiring werewolf's blood the most. Did Robert mind you asking for his help? He's always been so sensitive about being one."

Any lingering questions she might've had as to who was responsible were answered. Hermione didn't even bother to try not to draw attention to the man watching from the shadows when she turned again in his direction. Iain didn't notice. Though she couldn't be sure from that distance and thanks to the darkness, she could _swear_ the werewolf was smirking.

"This all looks fine, love. You live in a _very_ protected house, but if you still think you need the special Muggle-repelling spell, I'll talk to Savage tomorrow."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

Hermione forced her attention away from her mysterious shadow. While she didn't understand his reasons for casting the protective enchantments on her home, that wasn't the time to find out. Maybe she didn't even want to know. Iain assumed that Robert was responsible for helping. It was better that he believe that.

Once she stared into her ex's eyes again, the mood between them shifted. Convinced that she wasn't in imminent danger of being robbed or harassed by a dangerous Muggle, Iain was able to relax and stop being an auror. There was still undeniable chemistry when they were close. If there had been more than just that they might've been able to be happy together. Iain was a decadent piece of chocolate cake - delicious and satisfying in the moment, but a steep crash and a hollow emptiness when it was over.

"I've had fun tonight, Hermione."

His fingertips brushed gently up each of her arms. Goosebumps followed in their wake. Just as it had every other time the man touched her, her body responded all on its own. If she shut off her brain and allowed her primal side to take over her logic and good sense, she knew they could squeeze out even more pleasure from the already enjoyable night.

The soft press of his lips against hers should've done the trick of clearing out all of the reservations in her mind. Thanks to the wine she already had lower inhibitions. Not that that was ever required when Iain focused all of his attention on her body. But the feel of the hair rising on the back of her neck prevented her from encouraging the kiss to deepen. She never cared much for performing in front of an audience and even less so for someone whose motivations she didn't understand. Perhaps the growl in the Leaky Cauldron had been all in her head, but she couldn't be certain that her shadow wouldn't make a nuisance if they continued. And for a reason she didn't understand, she didn't _want_ to upset the werewolf or give him any cause to be jealous.

The moment that last confusing thought popped into her head, Hermione felt like an even bigger fool. She hadn't realized that was possible. Her life was in danger of growing too complicated if she allowed any further thoughts humanizing the man she knew to be a monster. Was she really that bored and unsatisfied with her quiet, uneventful life that she would invite that danger in? She should be grateful that she had the chance to survive the violence of her youth long enough to have a boring life. Too many she knew hadn't been so fortunate. Like poor Lavender. Dead at eighteen because of Greyback. Hermione would do well to remember what he was capable of.

Iain was disappointed when she pushed him away, but not surprised. Likely he had similar thoughts swirling around in his own head that he hoped he could ignore to ensure a pleasurable end to their odd evening. To his credit, he didn't even attempt to persuade her to let him come inside. Aurors had to be perceptive to be effective, a fact that always made Hermione question Harry's true talents as an auror. If he wasn't the Chosen One responsible for ridding the world of Lord Voldemort, would he even be capable enough to make it through the first few days of training? She never understood his desire to spend his life chasing Dark wizards. Wasn't a ruined childhood and adolescence enough for him? Surely there was something else more suited to his talents than even more fighting.

"Maybe we could do this again?"

There was a note of hope in his voice that Hermione didn't want to completely quash. He wasn't a bad bloke. Most women would count themselves fortunate to have him wishing to spend another moment with him. Unfortunately for the handsome auror, she wasn't most women. She offered him a smile, but didn't answer his question either way. After he watched her unlock her front door and disappear inside, she could hear him sigh heavily and walk away.

Once she was alone again she desired nothing more than to slip into a hot bath and then crawl into bed. She greeted Crookshanks as she filled up his bowl with dinner. The cat grew more cantankerous the older he got. When she wasn't home early enough to feed him when _he_ liked, he made his displeasure known by loud mewling and turning his back to her. It was a routine she still found amusing no matter how many times she'd been subjected to his anger.

Her interaction with Iain at the front door gave her a great deal to think about as she climbed the narrow staircase to her bedroom. Not about the kiss exactly. Likely that was something that she would dissect in excruciating detail for weeks to come in quiet moments. No, she was more concerned about the enchantments he claimed were protecting her home. _Why_ was Fenrir Greyback so insistent that she erect powerful wards and then go behind her back to do it himself when she ignored his demands? She didn't understand him. Yes, a conversation where she asked him those important questions would have to happen one day. She knew that they couldn't exist the way they were forever. Eventually her curiosity would get the better of her even if it was uncharacteristically dormant at present.

A shadow in her back garden caught her eye as she moved to close the roller blind covering the window in her bathroom. Though he'd been in front of the house when she was alone with Iain, her shadow managed to find his way back to what was becoming his regular spot in the back garden. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes as she reached for the cord. The goosebumps covering her body at the feel of the creature's gaze at her through the window stopped her in her tracks. Werewolves were known for their excellent eyesight, especially at night. It was what helped them track their prey. And though they might have been human most days and nights of the month, she knew that it was a gift they could take advantage of no matter what form their body took.

She was reckless. She was foolish. She was drunk.

Flipping the switch on the wall to plunge the room into darkness, she knew without confirmation that he could still see her. And she knew that he wasn't looking away. The scarf around her neck fell to the tiled floor without much effort. Her heavy outer robes followed moments later. As she stood in the pitch black where only he could see her, she made a decision she was sure she would come to regret later. In that moment, though, she couldn't be arsed to care. Each button on her jumper was more difficult to unbutton than the one before. She could hear her heart beating in her ears and feel her breathing grow heavier with each second she brazenly removed her clothes. All of the rest had to be removed quickly lest she lose her nerve entirely.

Only a matter of a second or two passed with her standing completely open to his gaze before she reached for the cord to shield her privacy. It was enough, however, to excite her more than anything Iain tried to do in the tavern or at her front door. What did that say about her that she would be willingly expose her naked body to the werewolf? She wasn't sure she was ready to find out.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Waking up to a painful, crushing headache, Hermione was certain she'd never been more embarrassed in her entire life. How was she supposed to leave her home with her head held up high after such a mortifying display the night before? Alcohol could only be blamed for part of her foolish act. There was absolutely no excuse for willingly stripping her clothes off piece by piece where _he_ could watch her. Nothing but temporary madness could explain it.

She could sense a change in her that started the night the Muggle held her at knifepoint. Whether it was positive or negative remained to be seen. Considering she'd bared herself for the private viewing pleasure of a known homicidal monster, she was leaning towards negative. Months earlier when she bemoaned the lack of excitement in her life, she should've been more careful what she wished for. There was such a thing as _too much_ excitement.

It wasn't like her to consume alcohol in excess as she did the night before. If she bothered to drink at all, it was usually a single glass of wine with dinner or after a particularly trying day at the Ministry. Even when she was all but forced to attend some hideous formal event she tried to only sip on one glass the whole event. It helped her to keep a clear head and prevent her from doing anything stupid or embarrassing.

Another reminder of standing in front of her bathroom window flashed across her mind causing her to groan. Pain followed the groan, forcing another one out of her mouth and thus beginning a vicious cycle. She wasn't sure she even had a vial of hangover potion to ease her misery. A staple in many wizarding houses, she couldn't remember the last time she even needed one. She likely hadn't since she was last in a relationship with Iain and prone to do all sort of thoughtless, reckless acts. Her ex was a terrible influence.

She bit back another groan as she recalled her passionate kiss at her front door. That was just another in a long line of stupid decisions she made under the influence of that damned wine. Iain would be unbearable. There was no possible way she hadn't given him the wrong idea. He was bound to make a nuisance of himself if he thought there might be the slimmest hope they could make another go at it. Especially after he confessed he missed her. He had too much of a hopeless romantic in him while she'd always been forced to be the cool, pragmatic one explaining why they shouldn't see each other any longer.

 _If only it was Saturday_ , she thought. Staying hidden inside her house all day would help her recover from her mortification, assuming that was even possible. But, sadly, she couldn't take refuge under her blankets. There was too much work waiting for her at the office. Important work. Work she was proud to be a part of. She couldn't allow one night of bad decisions to stop her even for a single day. As difficult as it might be, she knew she had to face down the world. At the very least, Robert was likely to worry if she wasn't in the office by her usual time. If he came to check on her only to discover another werewolf nearby, she couldn't continue to keep her secret.

Despite bathing the night before, Hermione forced herself into a hot shower with hopes that the water and the steam might help her tired body wake up. It was impossible not to stare at the covered window she'd stood in front of only hours earlier without remembering her shame. It was a struggle to make it through the usual motions of something as simple as a shower. She was glad there was an apothecary on the same floor as the Atrium for Ministry officials. There she would be able to purchase a potion that hopefully would make her feel less like she was on the verge of dying. The older she grew, the harder it was to recover.

Crookshanks was annoyed that his breakfast was later than usual. She filled his bowl in the kitchen while she tried very hard to ignore the figure still standing in her back garden staring at her through the large kitchen windows. As curious as she usually was about everything else, she was certain she didn't want to know what was going through his mind. Thankfully, she was late enough that there wasn't adequate time to linger in her house worrying.

The familiar sensation of being watched prickled the skin on the back of her neck as she locked and warded her front door. How he was able to move so swiftly and silently was just another mystery to add to the pile. He didn't speak a single word nor give any indication he wanted to. Each step she took towards the quiet alley she used for Apparition brought him along at a safe distance. Whatever his plans were it was evident that keeping an eye on her was the present priority. It should've frightened or at the very least annoyed her, but she couldn't even muster up a slight dislike. She felt safe knowing he was there. Almost _comforted_. Surely that was a sign she'd gone completely round the bend. Up until the moment she entered the employee entrance at the Ministry, she could feel her shadow close by.

Just as she expected, Robert was worried to be the first one in the office. After a quick stop in the apothecary and then to the Ministry canteen for the largest cup of tea she could find, Hermione was late. So unlike her, he started to bombard her with questions.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right enough to work? What sort of potion did you need to buy?"

"If I told you it was for a 'female complaint' would you want to know the details?"

Robert was no different from the vast majority of men, attached and unattached, when faced with the prospect of hearing more about the mysteries of the female body they didn't understand. Turning slightly green, he grimaced and promised to ask no more questions about her health. She couldn't help but laugh. It was too easy. The morning passed quickly as they each focused on their current cases.

After pausing long enough mid-afternoon for a quick sandwich in the canteen, Hermione found her mind drifting. Even she couldn't hide away forever in her work. Eventually reminders of her brash acts at the front door and her bathroom window were going to come back to haunt her thoughts. She'd been fortunate that her auror ex-boyfriend had been too busy to come by her office. That was likely to be an awkward conversation she wasn't looking forward to having.

But most of all, she thought about her constant shadow waiting silently for her in her back garden. A normal, rational person would confront him long enough to at least ask why he continued to follow her and keep watch over her when she was home. Usually she considered herself a logical, rational person, but when it came to Fenrir Greyback, she was content in the moment to live in ignorance about his motives or plans. Part of her was afraid to learn the truth. Years of living in a peaceful world made her fearful of disrupting the balance. She didn't want to fight again. As long as he remained silent and didn't hurt her, she could keep living her life as she'd grown accustomed to.

It was a pathetic excuse to keep from confronting him and she knew it. Where was the bravado and fearless courage that exemplified the Gryffindor spirit? The older she grew and the more she learned about how the world _actually_ worked, the less she could see the need for that sort of brashness. Maybe she would've been better served by allowing the Sorting Hat to place her in Ravenclaw after all. Sometimes she didn't feel as brave as an adult as she'd been when she was a teenager.

She couldn't ignore, however, the distinct feeling she had that she wasn't in any danger around him. That was perhaps the most illogical of all. No matter how hard she tried, she could never forget the night she spent on the drawing room floor in Malfoy Manor. Bits of memories would still flash across her mind at random times. Nightmares, thankfully, rarely bothered her, but she could never forget that _he_ was there that night. If Dobby hadn't been able to save them in his final act of bravery, who knows what might've happened? Bellatrix Lestrange offered whatever remained of her prisoner to the monster terrorizing the nation. She tried never to dwell on the possibilities of what that might've meant.

There had been no intuitive assurance that he wouldn't hurt her that night. She _knew_ he would. Why then was everything different? It made no sense at all and Hermione preferred a life that made sense. Possibly she would never get a truthful answer even if she did confront him. She might have even been a victim of some horrible, powerful enchantments that lulled her into a false sense of security right before he made his true intentions known.

Except she didn't believe that was the case at all. _Something_ compelled him to stand silently in the shadows. Did he want something from her but wasn't sure how to ask? Was it something insidious? What if it was all perfectly innocent? She couldn't reconcile the man who saved her from the Muggle and cleaned up her kitchen with a series of complex spells and a cheeky grin with the monster she knew from her adolescence. What was different? Why was he suddenly so watchful and protective of her?

"Robert, may I ask you a question about werewolves?"

She didn't know what possessed her to even _think_ about asking him a potentially awkward question. A theory of why Fenrir Greyback might've been stalking her came to her that she didn't really want to consider. It was all too weird if it turned out to be true. Always willing to be of service when she had questions, her assistant set his quill down on his desk and gave her his full attention. A nod was all the encouragement she needed from him to go ahead.

"Do werewolves have a tendency… do they have an _urge_ to seek out their potential mates?"

Worded strangely because she was nervous to ask, Hermione wasn't sure she'd made herself clear. There were stories of mythical creatures being bound to their potential mates automatically, even against their own wishes. Did Fenrir Greyback believe she was supposed to be his mate? Was that why she never feared since he turned back up that he'd hurt her? And was she somehow responding to him too? What else could possibly explain her boldness in front of the window?"

"What I mean to say is…"

"No, I understand perfectly what you meant."

There was a chill in Robert's tone of voice that surprised her. She'd been so focused on how to ask the strange question that she hadn't paid attention to how it was received. Even just a quick glance at her assistant was enough to see she'd offended him dearly. His jaw was clenched and his cheeks were beginning to flush. Even his nostrils flared. Usually such a calm, gentle man, she got a frightening glimpse of what he must've been like when he transformed under the Full Moon. He'd never scared her before.

"You want to know if werewolves have some animalistic instinct to seek out their _perfect_ mate. You want to know if we are slaves to these instincts and have no choice but to be drawn to some unsuspecting woman we desire only to mate with against our will."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh, it isn't?"

He was unconvinced. The mocking tone he used was so unlike his usual self that Hermione desired nothing more than to escape from their too-small office. Evidently her question struck a tender nerve. She wished she hadn't asked. While she didn't blame him and couldn't hope to understand all that he'd been subjected to since he was bitten, he could be quite sensitive about his infection. She never wished to offend him.

"You weren't asking me if werewolves were slaves to their animalistic desires? That they don't have any choice in the matter of whom they love and desire?"

She couldn't deny that she was asking him that very question because she was. There was nothing she could say in response that felt adequate, so she chose not to say anything. Robert, perhaps realizing she had no wish to upset him, took a deep breath and calmed. When he spoke next, his tone was almost back to its regular tenor.

"You've read too many romance novels, Hermione. Too many have been written that aren't anywhere near the truth. Personally, I'll never understand why so many witches seem to want to read about a dangerous, feral creature ravishing them against their will. Hardly sounds romantic to me."

"I've never read one of those novels."

"I highly doubt that. Seems like every woman I've ever known has. They all want to know if the stories are true."

He exhaled a deep sigh. The flush in his cheeks returned, but instead of being related to rage, he appeared embarrassed. Once again she wished she hadn't asked. Didn't he deserve some privacy? He never asked to be bitten.

"Most of the women I meet who show the least bit of interest in me after they find out what I am, do so because they want to know if all of the stories are true."

"I'm sorry, Robert. I had no idea."

"Yes, well, it's hardly something that one wishes to admit in polite company. It's humiliating."

Hermione was well aware that she could isolate herself too much at times. It was the main reason why her old friendships weren't nearly as strong as they once were. In the naïveté of youth it was all too easy to assume the deep friendships made during those important school years would last for a lifetime. Especially considering how fiercely she'd fought during the war with her two best friends, it was even easier to take those friendships for granted, to expect they would always be close. Unfortunately, she'd learned the hard way that that wasn't always the case. One could only take their friendships for granted for so long. Eventually choosing work over friendships meant fewer and then no invitations.

Because she isolated herself so much, there was a great deal about the society Hermione lived in that she didn't understand or even know anything about. Though she knew many werewolves on a professional level because of her position, she hated to admit their personal lives and their private struggles were unknown. Remus Lupin certainly never mentioned women throwing themselves at him to find out whether or not rumors of a werewolf's virility were true. She shouldn't have been surprised that there were women like that even if she never stopped to consider it before. Usually she didn't care what sort of kink a person liked, especially if it happened between two consenting adults. Her worries usually centered on what was happening or _not_ happening behind her own closed bedroom door. It angered her to know that Robert had been hurt. He deserved more than that.

"You say you've never read the books and as you've no reason to lie to me, I believe you."

Robert sighed, his shoulders drooping. She felt angry again that those faceless women existed.

"I certainly don't recommend you pick one up either. They're disgusting and there's no basis in reality. Werewolves are written as these sex-crazed deviants who have one thing and one thing only on their minds. They say that we are slaves to our animal instincts and any woman we set our sights on to "be our mate" is powerless to refuse us. I have _never_ forced myself on a woman nor would I ever."

"Of course you wouldn't."

"Do you believe any of the men you've met while doing this job are any different?"

She didn't mean to hesitate answering the question that should've been quite simple. Only one werewolf she'd met since she started working for the Ministry of Magic ever frightened her, but that had nothing to do with his affliction. Reports from those who knew him before he was bitten all indicated he'd never been a terribly nice person. Even then she didn't expect him to pull her hair and force her into sex. She feared more that he'd say something nasty or maybe even hex her.

Only one werewolf had _ever_ made her believe he'd force himself on her given the chance. She'd been so terrified that night that she spun a web of all sorts of nightmares in her head. The Greyback she knew years earlier was the only one who ever scared her. That was why she had such difficulty reconciling the man who saved her and kept a silent watch from the monster.

"We are all just men, Hermione. For the vast majority of our lives, we are just ordinary men."

"Of course you are."

Robert made an excuse to leave the office shortly after their conversation ended. Based on the redness still present in his cheeks, she knew he was still embarrassed by all that he had to explain to her. As long as she knew him she'd just assumed he was shy around women and that's why he was single. To know that he had to constantly wonder if a woman who showed any interest in him just wanted to see if the rumors were true threatened to break her heart. It also made her wonder if being too old and poor weren't the only objections Remus had when his wife fell in love with him. It was very unfair.

Sitting alone in her office gave her even more opportunity to allow her mind to wander as she dissected and analyzed all Robert told her. No closer to understanding why Fenrir Greyback followed her around, at least she could be confident knowing it wasn't because of some sort of mystical mating ritual. She was thankful for that. Their situation was complicated enough as it was.

A knock on the doorframe startled her out of her thoughts. Recognizing her visitor as the former Minister for Magic Pius Thicknesse, she offered him a friendly smile and waved him inside. Any distraction was welcome.

"Sorry to bother you, Miss Granger, but I've got a delivery for you, I'm afraid."

"Pius, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Hermione before you do? We're colleagues."

He smiled, but she could tell she still made him uncomfortable with her friendly attitude where he was concerned. Most Ministry officials chose to ignore his existence, a feat made easier by his position as a lowly clerk in the Ministry Archives. Following the end of the war when it was made evident he'd been under a very strong Imperius Curse cast by Corban Yaxley, he'd been stripped of his position as the leader of their government. After several months of recovery in St. Mungo's, Pius wished to make amends for what he'd been ordered to do. Hermione had to admire him for approaching Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt for a job, _any_ job. Most people in the same position would've left the country or at the very least become a recluse. With the surprising help from his staunchest supporter in turning over a new leaf, Percy Weasley, he was offered the chance to work in the dusty archives, a position few wanted. He kept a good attitude about his changing circumstances and Hermione had no doubt he was sincere in his desire to start over. When he was released from St. Mungo's, the first person he sought out was Percy to thank him for stopping him in the final battle from being able to do any real harm. Transfiguration into a sea urchin had to have been humiliating, but he was grateful that he couldn't continue to fight under the Imperius Curse.

"All right, _Hermione_."

His self-deprecating smile only endeared the wizard to her more. She had a long history of caring about the downtrodden. Despite his hard work to redeem himself, Pius was still despised by a great number of his former subordinates. More than once she'd been a witness to the harsh insults and rude behavior he could be subjected to by those who would never forgive him for what atrocities he committed under Yaxley's orders. It wasn't fair. Hadn't he made up for what he did already?

"Mr. Bletchley told me to bring some old files to your office. He wants to clear up space in the Archives and thought you should have them down here."

"Oh, _lovely_."

Edgar Bletchley had been unsuccessfully trying to force the old files on her for years. Each time he tried she'd been able to give him an acceptable excuse why she couldn't take them. She should've known he would eventually give them to her without asking. Sending Pius had been a well-calculated move as she was always friendly and polite to the social pariah. Edgar must've assumed she would never tell him 'no'. He was correct, unfortunately.

"Yes, well, perhaps the files could come in handy for some of our current cases."

Pius offered her a warm smile she knew was hiding a laugh.

"I highly doubt so. Most of these files are from before _I_ was born and you and I both know the Ministry's treatment of werewolves hasn't ever been very kind. And when you factor in the lowered life expectancy of those afflicted, the likelihood of any of the werewolves in these files still being alive are quite slim."

Hermione didn't want to dwell on some of the more depressing aspects of a werewolf's life. Especially not when one of her dearest friends was so affected. It was all so unfair. With a tight smile, she pointed to an empty corner where he could store the cartons. She would have to come up with a plan for what to do with them at a later time.

"I can see why Edgar has always been so eager to get rid of these files."

She didn't bother to hide the annoyed roll of her eyes to Pius' amusement when he finished stacking the old, dusty cartons almost to the ceiling. There was usually hardly enough space in her tiny office to move around, even less with the damned files. At any moment one of the stacks could topple over.

"Would you like me to teach you the shrinking spell we use down in the Archives to store files long-term? Most shrinking spells wear off too quickly."

"No, thank you. I can manage. I may want to take a closer look at them."

Pius didn't linger in her office any longer than necessary. She suspected he might've been nervous she'd change her mind and make him take all of the files back. No doubt he was under strict orders from his difficult boss to get rid of them no matter what.

"What's all this?"

Hermione was so lost in her own thoughts for another time that day she didn't even hear her assistant return. It upset her to know she upset him by her impertinent questions. If she was completely honest with him about _why_ she was so curious lately about certain aspects of being a werewolf she didn't know anything about, she felt sure he would understand. Of course she also knew that any mention of Fenrir Greyback still being alive and standing watch nightly outside of her home would send Robert running off to the aurors.

"Edgar Bletchley finally figured out how to clean out the Archives. He sent Pius Thicknesse down with the cartons and I couldn't say no."

As Robert took his seat at the desk with a soft chuckle, Hermione waved her wand to shrink the files down to a minuscule pile in the corner. One day she would be bored enough to dig through them, but not that day. There was already enough to keep her mind occupied.

"I'm sorry for offending you with my thoughtless questions, Robert. I hope you can forgive me."

He might've sighed once more, but the gentle pat on the top of her hand with his calmed her down.

"Curiosity isn't a crime, Hermione. I shouldn't have been so sensitive. I know you weren't trying to upset me. Please accept _my_ apology."

With the air cleared they were able to return to their work as usual. No further inappropriate questions were asked by either of them and the rest of the work day passed swiftly. A few minutes past six, Robert left for the evening, forcing a promise out of his boss that she wouldn't work too late and would go home at a decent hour. It was a promise she had no intention of keeping.

Work was her escape. As long as she could hide away in her office, Hermione didn't have to think about her next steps once she stepped outside. She knew she was being an irrational coward, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Facing problems head-on was tiring and she'd been exhausted for far too long. She wished she'd known when she was young how tiresome and frustrating being an adult could be. Perhaps she wouldn't have been in such a hurry to grow up.

Eventually, she knew she couldn't keep hiding. Most of the Ministry officials had been home for hours already when she dropped her quill. No longer able to focus, Hermione needed to go home. There was no sense falling asleep at her desk when she had a comfortable bed waiting.

The temperature dropped sharply as the day wore on. Already quite cold that morning when she arrived, it was even colder when she made her exit from the building. Rain fell steadily all around her, further prompting her need to hurry home. Hermione could feel her shadow watching her, but she chose not to acknowledge him. Not yet. She wanted to live in ignorance a little while longer.

Crookshanks was pleased to see her when she pushed open her front door minutes later. Always eager to fill his belly, he rushed ahead of her to the kitchen where his bowl stood empty. As Hermione fed her cat, she tried to ignore the now-familiar presence standing in her back garden. Would he never let up his mysterious vigil? In the midst of the coldest, wettest night since she became aware he was still alive, he must've been miserable. Warming spells and heavy cloaks could only work for so long. Did werewolves ever succumb to something as banal as the common cold?

Hermione didn't waste any time retreating to her bedroom upstairs. It was her hope that she could stop thinking about the werewolf if she was asleep. Dressed in her warmest pajamas, she slipped between the sheets of her empty bed only mere minutes after arriving home. Too much work usually left her unable to do much of anything when she got home. She fully expected to fall asleep the moment she closed her eyes and rested her head on her soft pillow.

Except she didn't. She _couldn't_. Not with him standing outside in the freezing rain. Before she could stop herself, Hermione got up, put on her dressing gown, and headed for the ground floor. She was being reckless, but she didn't care.

Her shadow met her eyes the moment she opened the kitchen door. As usual, he didn't say a word. Just stood there waiting for her to speak.

"Come inside. You'll catch your death of cold if you stay out in this."

Fenrir Greyback must've been caught by surprise by the unlikely invitation, but he didn't show any signs. Silently, he crossed her back garden. When Hermione moved aside to allow him entrance into the warmth of her home, he entered as if he'd done so a hundred times before. Once she had the back door locked and warded, he followed her up the stairs.

She couldn't believe she willingly invited the known murderer inside her home, but even as she felt him only steps behind her, she wasn't afraid. He wouldn't hurt her. He would never hurt her again.

"There are extra blankets in the wardrobe if you get cold."

Fenrir stepped inside the spare bedroom across the corridor from her room when she pushed open the door. After a quick scan of the room, he nodded his approval. Raspier than usual due to its disuse, he uttered his first words to her as she moved into the corridor.

"Thank you."

It was her turn to silently nod. Despite having the most fearsome werewolf in recent history just on the other side of her closed bedroom door, Hermione fell into a deep sleep just as she laid her head down.


	8. Chapter 8

**_*Tonight's Special Update is in honor of one of my dearest besties, Kittenshift17's birthday! When you're finished here, please head over to her stories and shower her with love and affection for her special day. :)_**

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Chapter Eight

The smell of breakfast cooking downstairs woke Hermione up from a very relaxing sleep. Unused to the smell in her own home and certainly when she wasn't the one making it, she didn't know what to think. Was she still asleep and actually in the middle of an odd, unexplainable dream? That option certainly made more sense than the one that had Fenrir Greyback cooking in her kitchen. Crookshanks surely never bothered to learn how to feed his mistress beyond leaving dead mice at her feet when she was working too much and not properly caring for herself. She thought it strange that her cat wasn't in her bedroom vocally demanding his breakfast.

Of course, a great deal about her life was strange. Tempting as it was to try to deny the truth, she knew she couldn't. Not for long at any rate. At some point she would have to make her way down the stairs to answer for her rash decision the night before. Whether she wanted to admit it yet or not, she was responsible for changing the entire dynamic between them. How could they go back to him watching her silently from the shadows while she pretended he wasn't there after he spent the night in her spare bedroom? Perhaps it was finally time for some answers.

Just the mere thought of openly confronting him made Hermione want to hide underneath her covers. It wasn't like an unrepentant Gryffindor like her to be a coward, but a person couldn't be brave _every_ second of their life. What if she discovered he'd been surveilling her because he'd gotten together with some of his old mates to try the taking over the world bit again? He could've simply been a good actor and competent caster of spells to put her at ease. She didn't want to fight another war. As long as she didn't know what he was up to, she could still pretend everything all right just like the coward she was entitled to be from time to time.

Unwilling to make the decision of what to do or say when she faced her unexpected houseguest again, she chose to linger in the shower longer than usual. As the warm spray of water cascaded over her skin, she felt only somewhat more relaxed than she did when she first woke up. Her next step still wasn't clear. The one who usually made the plans, it was unlike her to be so passive. Age softened her thirst for adventure and even lessened, to a certain extent, her incessant need to prove herself to everyone. For once she could finally understand how tempting it could be to simply sit back and allow life, good or bad, to just happen.

She wished she had someone she trusted to talk to about the strange predicament she'd found herself in. Unfortunately, there wasn't anyone she could share her secret with. Harry had his whole 'saving people thing'. One hint that Fenrir Greyback was still alive and he wouldn't stop until the werewolf was dead or locked up in Azkaban with his former comrades. He would probably never trust her again if he discovered she was essentially harboring a well-known dangerous fugitive.

And her friendship with Ron was almost entirely a memory. Sure, she saw him at holiday gatherings because his mother was always kind enough to extend her an invitation because she was without a family, but there hadn't been more between them beyond awkward small talk since their doomed romance ended. With such heightened emotions during and after the war, when everything finally settled, they chose to try to be just friends again. It didn't work. Ron would listen calmly to her explanation about her current circumstances for about three seconds before he called over his best friend and brother-in-law to take charge. Likewise, her only other serious ex-boyfriend Iain would feel immediately compelled to report Greyback's return to his superiors.

The hot water ran out of the shower before she came to any conclusions. Cursing herself for never bothering with an unlimited hot water charm on her plumbing because she never showered long enough, Hermione turned the taps off as her teeth chattered. It was a miserable feeling to climb out of the shower cold. Her morning wasn't turning out how she expected. Cowardice rarely made her feel good after all.

Deciding that making no decision was the same as making one, she knew she had to stop hiding upstairs. Once she was warm again thanks to dry clothes and a warming charm, she felt more ready to face him. She further decided as she finally began descending the stairs that she would wait for _him_ to tell her his purpose. There seemed in her frustrated mind some power in keeping her curiosity to herself for the time being.

Despite knowing he was down there and having a fairly good idea what he'd been up to based on the smells wafting up the stairs, actually seeing the werewolf seated at her kitchen table casually reading the morning edition of the Daily Prophet was hard to believe. Especially when she saw her cat laying in his lap, content with the idle rubs and scratches he received from their guest's free hand. A plate of food under a warming charm across the table from him was just another bizarre, unexpected aspect of the morning. She'd thought it odd to see the bed he slept in neatly made when she passed by the open bedroom door, but that was nothing. Crookshanks purring could be heard across the kitchen. Hermione had to rub her eyes to determine her mind wasn't playing tricks on her.

The slight grin at the corner of his mouth that he was trying to hide was all the confirmation Hermione needed that for the present, not inundating him with dozens of questions about his motivations or his whereabouts for the previous ten years was the right decision to make. She knew he was expecting her to rattle off question after question, so she didn't. Instead, she sat across from him as if what they were doing was the most normal event in an ordinary life.

"Good morning. I hope you slept well."

"Thank you. I did."

His lips twitched as he spoke. He seemed to be on the verge of laughing. Hermione didn't know what to think. Was he amused by her determination not to interrogate him or was he amused because his diabolical plan was working? Of course she didn't have the first clue what that plan could possibly be and not knowing would've ordinarily driven her completely insane, but for a reason she was sure she'd never fully understand, she was perfectly content not knowing for the immediate future.

The simple breakfast of eggs and toast looked surprisingly appetizing. Usually she didn't allow herself enough time in the mornings for a proper meal before work. Where he managed to find eggs that were suitable for consumption and bread that hadn't gone moldy was another of his mysteries. Her cupboards were mostly bare of anything remotely edible. Though he tried not to make it obvious, Hermione could tell he was watching her over the top of the newspaper. Was he concerned she wouldn't accept the kind gesture of breakfast? Or was he waiting for her to tuck in because he'd poisoned the eggs? She almost laughed out loud at that thought. There was nothing to fear. He would never hurt her again.

While it might have been entirely in her own imagination, she thought she detected a slight relaxing in his shoulders when she took her first bite. What had he been expecting? Her to test the food in front of him or worse, to throw it in his face? As she chewed in silence, she thought to herself that no one would blame her if she did. His terrible reputation wasn't just a myth. He'd done many terrible things in his past. Maybe he was still doing them. She had no way of knowing what he did when he wasn't watching her from the shadows.

Several minutes passed of an awkward silence between them. Only the sounds of her fork scraping against her plate and his rustling of the newspaper could be heard apart from Crookshanks' unbroken purring. It might have made little sense to an outsider but knowing her cat wasn't afraid of the man helped her feel more confident that she was right not to fear him. Wanting a neutral subject that had nothing to do with the werewolf's true intentions, Hermione gestured to her cat.

"He never lets anyone except me hold him like that."

The twitch of his lips turned into a full-blown grin. Unlike how he'd smiled at her years earlier, it was warm and made her want to smile back. There was something genuine in his expression, something that hadn't been there before.

"Your wee beastie sat on the edge of the bed all night staring at me. He's protective of you. That's good."

She was happy to hear that Crookshanks was so protective. The thought of him fearlessly staring at the werewolf all night almost made her laugh. Very few people in her life had ever truly appreciated her cat. Her friends certainly hadn't. The year she got him almost ended her friendship with them entirely.

Thinking back on third year, she remembered the close bond Crookshanks formed with Sirius Black. Even when they were all convinced that he was still a dangerous murderer, Crookshanks was prepared to defend Sirius with his life, if necessary. Once someone earned her cat's loyalty, they had it for life. Sirius told her more than once in the time he knew her that her cat was a good judge of character. Hadn't he been aware from the very beginning about Peter Pettigrew masquerading as Ron's harmless pet rat Scabbers?

Based on the way he lounged in Fenrir Greyback's lap, he had no fear that they were in danger. Even though he was a werewolf and that fact alone often made smaller animals uneasy, Crookshanks continued to purr and relax. If he felt he could trust him, she knew she wasn't wrong. Her logical side might've been screaming at her to run far away, but she knew there was no reason.

"Thank you for inviting me in last night."

His statement caught her by surprise. Would she ever get used to hearing the sound of his voice? It seemed unlikely.

"Of course. It was too cold to be outside."

He chuckled, a sound so far removed from the terrifying laughter of just ten years earlier that all she could do was stare at him without saying a single word. Was it possible that this man wasn't the same one who led the Snatchers the night they were captured? Had there been some sort of mixup and he had an imposter pretending to be him during the worst night of her life? Nothing about the man seated across the table from her was the least bit like she remembered. It hadn't been _that_ long ago that she couldn't trust her memories.

"I _do_ have a home, you know."

Hermione stopped staring at her guest to focus on her breakfast plate. It was a dare to get her to ask him the questions he knew she wanted to ask. They were both playing an elaborate game that had confusing, ever-changing rules. As much as she might have been tempted to forget her earlier promise to keep her questions to herself for the time being, she refused to take the bait. When she was ready to ask, she would ask. Not a moment before. He wouldn't trick her into doing it sooner.

"That's good to hear. This is a dreadful time of year for one to find themselves homeless."

He chuckled softly again, but didn't say anything else. With his attention returned to the newspaper, Hermione continued eating the breakfast he'd prepared. On the outside she might have seemed serene and entirely at ease with what was happening in her kitchen. On the inside, however, she was anything but. Even more questions and possible scenarios ran through her mind. If he wasn't on the run and had somewhere safe to live, what was his purpose of spending every hour it was dark watching her? It made no sense at all. Nothing about any of it made sense. She went back and forth between wanting to keep the power by not asking and saying damn it all and asking.

Neither of them spoke again while she ate. The silence between them could almost be described as comfortable. She hadn't expected that. Once she shoveled the last bite of eggs into her mouth, she caught a glimpse of the clock above the stove. Between her extra long shower and her reluctance to get out of bed upstairs and then the rare breakfast downstairs, she was late yet another morning that week. Robert was sure to be suspicious if she kept it up. The last thing she needed was for him to come to her home looking for her to find another werewolf at her kitchen table. There would be no containing that secret for very long.

"It's very late. I shouldn't still be here."

She stood up too quickly from her chair. Not one to usually be clumsy, she had to blame her nerves. Her foot caught the edge of the table leg in her scramble. As if everything was suddenly in slow motion, Hermione could feel herself tumbling to the floor to land on her face. What a delightfully humiliating picture that would make!

Except she never hit the ground. With the impressive reflexes that could've only come from his curse, Fenrir was able to leap to his feet to steady her before she fell. His hands held each of her upper arms in such a firm grip that it was easy to feel how strong he actually was. Not enough to hurt her, his touch was just enough to keep her upright. Crookshanks hissed at being so rudely dumped to the floor, but neither of them seemed to even remember his presence. Nor did they appear to be in any hurry to move.

Hermione could hardly breathe with the werewolf towering over her. Though she didn't feel fear, she was consumed with another intense emotion she didn't know how to describe. Only a matter of a few seconds passed with the two of them standing in the middle of the kitchen staring into each other's eyes and with his hands still on her body. It felt much longer. When the moment passed and Hermione's senses returned, she knew she had to get out of there fast. Shrugging her way out of his touch, she turned to rush for the front door without saying a word.

If he followed her outside and to her usual Apparition point, she didn't notice. It didn't matter. She just knew that she had to get away from him as quickly as she could. Only once she arrived at the Ministry out of breath did she feel like a complete and utter fool. She couldn't even explain what had just happened to her inside her home. Remembering she hadn't even stopped running long enough to lock her door, she sighed. What was she thinking inviting him inside? She must've gone completely mad.

Every decision she'd made since she first learned he was alive had clearly been the wrong one. Perhaps her theory that she was under some sort of strange compulsion spell wasn't wrong. Why else would she invite the man to spend the night in the spare bedroom? And how else could she explain the fact that she'd rarely slept so peacefully with the knowledge that he was only a few steps away? It was all complete madness.

"Just getting in, Hermione? That's a bit odd."

Hearing the voice of her ex-boyfriend cutting through her thoughts only made an already terrible morning even worse. She didn't want to see Iain. Her plan was to avoid him as best as she could for the rest of her life. After clearly giving him the wrong signals earlier in the week, she didn't know what else to do. Without even bothering to hide the heavy sigh, she stopped moving towards the lifts.

"Good morning, Iain. Yes, I'm running a little late this morning. Overslept."

"Everything all right?"

Once upon a time she would've appreciated his concern. That morning, however, she wished that he didn't care what happened to her at all. It would make her life easier, something she could use more of.

"Yes, I'm fine, Iain. Thank you. I'm allowed to oversleep from time to time."

The auror stepped backwards from her with his palms outstretched. Immediately she regretted the harsh tone she used. It wasn't his fault he popped back into her life at the absolute worst time.

"I'm sorry. I'll just… have a good day, Hermione."

"Iain, wait…"

Part of her was relieved that he didn't listen to her weak pleas for him to stop moving, but as always, guilt that she'd been so rude overrode those feelings. She watched him disappear into the stairwell next to the lifts. Not once did he stop to look over his shoulder. Sometimes he could be a bit sensitive when his pride was ruffled. Gryffindors weren't the easiest of people to love. At some point she knew they would need to have a discussion about what they did after too much wine. It would be uncomfortable even if it was completely necessary.

Robert appeared to be on the verge of calling for the aurors himself when she finally made it into their office. Pacing what little floor they had, she could sense the moment she crossed the threshold that he was anxious. It wasn't like her to be late. She would have to be more careful around her assistant. He'd been giving her the strangest looks when he thought she wasn't looking. Did he suspect something was off?

"Please tell me you weren't worried about me too, Robert. I forgot to set an alarm this morning."

The lie was easy enough to say. If she wasn't careful, she would find lying to become second nature. She didn't like the secrets, but couldn't see any other way around it. What would Robert or any of the others think if they knew about her silent shadow?

"Was someone else worried about you?"

As she brushed past Robert, she thought she heard a sniff. Based on the location of their grimy office, it wouldn't be a shock if they both died of some sort of horrid mold-related disease. The winter months always made it just a little more unbearable. She tried to keep their spirits up by decorating the walls in cheery pictures of warmer climates, but there was only so much she could do.

"I ran into Iain in the Atrium. He thought it odd that I was just now coming in."

"Oh, I see. Of course that makes sense."

Though he might have seemed as if he believed her explanation, Hermione couldn't shrug the fact that there was more he wished to say. Even as they both took their seats she could still feel Robert looking at her. What did he think he would see if he stared? Nervous to meet his eyes, she finally decided to put some of her own Gryffindor courage to work.

"Are you sure that everything is all right, Hermione?"

Robert's nostrils flared and his eyes looked strange for a brief second before returning to normal. Why did he seem so distressed? It was hardly the first time that she hadn't been there on time. Did he think that… Every muscle in her body tensed as she recalled the feel of Fenrir's hands on her arms just a short time earlier. Was that what had her assistant on edge? Could he _smell_ another werewolf on her body? She couldn't afford to let him suspect anything was wrong.

"Yes, Robert. Everything is _fine_. I bumped into… Silas Crump outside the Ministry entrance. You remember Silas, don't you?"

"Yes, he's the bloke that refuses to register with the Werewolf Registry. What was he doing here?"

"Well, if you must know, he accosted me. Grabbed me by the arms and demanded we stop sending owls to his flat. I tried to explain to him that it wasn't _our_ department that was bothering him, but you know how stubborn he can be."

It was a plausible lie. There were at least a dozen werewolves they each knew who refused to register for their various reasons. Hermione couldn't exactly blame them as the Ministry of Magic possessed an _uncomfortable_ history with werewolves. Once or twice she'd been stopped on the street by one of the holdouts who wished to express their frustration with the reminders to register owled to them at frequent intervals. Robert appeared to believe the lie even if he didn't say a single word in response. The subject, thankfully, was dropped.

By late afternoon Hermione was no closer to figuring out a solution to her dilemma than she had been when she woke up that morning. Inviting Fenrir inside her home changed everything between them. She knew that they couldn't just go back to acting as if nothing was strange. The time to ask some questions she was sure she didn't want the answer to was rapidly approaching. Even her own Gryffindoric stubbornness couldn't delay it much longer.

A knock on the open door frame of the office came as a surprise to both occupants. Rarely did they get visitors down there who just dropped by without prior warning. Expecting to see poor Pius with another stack of cartons, Hermione looked up with a ready smile. Seeing Iain staring back at her removed it. Knowing he wasn't wanted, her ex-boyfriend tried and failed to pretend as if he wasn't bothered. She knew his mannerisms too well.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, of course not, Iain. What can _we_ do for you?"

Emphasizing the word 'we' was just a hollow attempt to make it clear she didn't want to speak to him alone. He was intelligent enough to understand, but Robert was also perceptive enough to know he didn't want to be in the middle of whatever was happening. Reaching for his cloak hanging on a hook on the wall, he made his excuses to leave. It was late enough that he could meet up with his new witch before she left for home. Hermione could've cursed him in the back for abandoning her when she needed him to stay.

"Hermione, can we go somewhere we can talk?"

"What's wrong with right here?"

If they were going to have to have an uncomfortable conversation, they could at least get it over with as soon as possible. There seemed no reason to draw it out.

"I was hoping we could talk over a few drinks."

"That didn't really work out so well for us last time, did it, Iain?"

He sighed, frustration clear. She used to find it charming but it just annoyed her. One more reason she shouldn't have accepted his invitation for a drink. Too many complications for a few minutes of pleasure.

"Did you think the other night was a mistake?"

"I think we both drank too much and we were both lonely and not thinking clearly."

Iain sat on the edge of her desk only centimeters from her chair. The urge to put as much space between them as possible was overwhelming. He sighed again in a much more dramatic fashion when she stood and moved to the opposite corner of the office. Even if he was still close enough to reach out and touch, she wanted distance between them lest she do something foolish again. He'd always been very persuasive when he wished to be. Hadn't he proven that when he kissed her at her front door?  
"Maybe you're right, Hermione. Maybe we were both a little drunk and a little lonely, but that doesn't mean we made a mistake."

"Why are you so desperate to try to make more out of this than there really is?"

Sometimes even a respected auror could be a bit sensitive and fragile. Hermione regretted her choice of words almost as soon as they tumbled out of her mouth. With reddening cheeks Iain stood up from the desk.

"I'm not _desperate_. There's still something between us. You can't deny that."

"No, I can't. There's a _past_ between us. One that was quite lovely at times and perfectly dreadful at others. We don't make each other happy, Iain. Why don't we just agree the other night was a mistake and go back to how it was before?"

He stormed out of her office moments later without uttering a single word. It wasn't the last she would hear from him she was certain. Tenacity, even in insurmountable odds, was another one of the more frustrating traits Gryffindors were cursed with. If anyone knew that painful truth, she did.

Why did Iain have to choose _that_ moment to come back into her life? She had enough complications as it was. Life had rarely been what she might've considered _easy_ , but her recent days felt much more stressful. There was truth to that trite statement 'when it rains, it pours'. Now she just needed to figure out how to make it all stop. One frustration at a time was plenty.

A wave of anger she'd been trying to suppress since the moment Iain entered the office could no longer be held back. Needing something to focus her wrath on, she caught sight of the damned cartons stacked in the corner. Only the size of a single small shoebox thanks to her shrinking spell, they were the chosen target. One stiff kick with all her might would help her feet better, she was sure.

Too late she decided she'd been wrong to wave off Pius' offer to teach her the shrinking spell used in the Archives. Always one to believe she had the correct answer, even after she'd been proven wrong, her own arrogance and self-assuredness prevented her from seeking out the help she could've used in the seconds following her disastrous choice to kick the old, dusty files on werewolves likely long lost dead. Objects became less able to hold a spell or a charm the more often they were cast. It was one of the first lessons she remembered in Professor Flitwick's Charms class. Weakened over time and frequent use, a simple kick removed all traces of the shrinking spell.

The back of Hermione's head caught the edge of her desk with a sharp crack. Cartons of old files exploded all around the tiny office filling up every empty bit of space. Happening too quickly to react in time, she remembered only being pushed backwards by a growing mountain of cardboard. She was surprised to be staring at the ceiling when she opened her eyes again. Had she really hit her head hard enough to black out? Only a few seconds, perhaps a minute passed. A throbbing pain just above her neck was enough to make her vomit. She knew she needed to get home to a healing potion and her bed.

A couple of the expanded cartons had to be pushed off her body before she could even hope to stand up. Torn between wishing Robert was there to help her and relieved he didn't witness her embarrassing tantrum, Hermione somehow managed to roll over onto her knees. She was on the verge of using her desk to help pull herself up when her eyes landed on two very faded words scribbled on the side of one of the blasted cartons: Greyback, Fenrir. None of the other file cartons were labelled with a single name. What could possibly be in his old file that he'd need one all to himself? She didn't dwell too long on her next course of action. Shrinking the entire carton with his name on it, Hermione slipped it into the pocket of her robes. She wanted to look at it in private away from her assistant's knowing, perceptive gaze.

Somehow she managed to get out of the office without being crushed by a falling tower of old parchment. The files would need to be dealt with, but she didn't have the energy. They were problems that could be handled in the morning. She could only focus on the healing potion waiting for her at home. Peacetime made her complacent. When she went everywhere with her enchanted beaded bag, she always had at least a vial or two at hand. There seemed to be no reason to carry the bag around once the war ended.

Sheer stubbornness and determination was all that got her home. It would've been best if she'd asked for help from any of the other Ministry officials she crossed paths with on her way to the employee exit, but her pride kept her from it. She was too embarrassed. How could she explain her injury without looking like a complete fool? Never was she more grateful to walk up to her front door.

Unsurprised to find the front door unlocked after she rushed out of it that morning, Hermione _was_ surprised to hear voices when she stepped inside. Worried that the Muggles who vandalized her house were back, she reached into her pocket for her wand. They weren't going to have a chance to attack her again. Loud familiar laughter and a soft, raspy chuckle put her at ease enough to relinquish her grip on her weapon.

Finding her elderly neighbor Margaret sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea with the notorious werewolf Fenrir Greyback was not something she ever expected to see. In her element sharing old, oft repeated stories with a new person, Margaret didn't have the first clue that her tea companion was someone to fear. Nor did Fenrir give her any reason to doubt her own safety. Maybe it was the bump on her head, but Hermione thought he even appeared to be enjoying himself.

"Oh, dear, I didn't realize I'd been here so long. You were kind enough to let an old woman prattle on, Fen."

Like a proper, well-brought up gentleman, Fenrir offered the elderly woman assistance in getting to her feet. She really was getting too old to be of much help cleaning Hermione's house, but she didn't have the heart to deprive the kind lady of the money she needed and Margaret had too much pride to accept it without attempting to earn it.

"It was a bit of a surprise to find a young man in your house again, dear. A _pleasant_ surprise, but a surprise nonetheless."

Hermione forced herself to smile, ignoring the pain in her head. Her houseguest didn't even try to hide his amused grin. Did he find it funny that he was probably at least the same age, if not older, than the woman calling him a young man or did he find mention of Hermione having a man in her house again amusing?

"I like him much better than Iain. He's much less full of himself."

Margaret waved off any further assistance leaving the house. After a few more pleasantries exchanged, she left Hermione alone once more with Fenrir.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

He closed the distance between them only seconds after hearing the front door close. How could he know something was wrong? She hadn't been there long enough. The lightest touch of his fingertips on the back of her head made her hiss in pain. Showing her drops of red blood on his fingers, Fenrir used his clean hand to gently press her chin until their eyes met. She didn't have to know him well to see he was worried.

"I hit my head. I'm all right. I just need a healing potion."

"It's a wonder you didn't splinch yourself in this condition."

"There's nothing wrong with me."

Trying to push the werewolf's hands away robbed her of her last remaining strength. Feeling dizzy, she swayed on her feet and would've collapsed to the ground if he wasn't there to catch her. Pulling her into his arms, she remembered only hearing him mutter under his breath " _There's nothing wrong with me_ " with a scoff.


End file.
